dy proved so fatal to their
companions.

No further mishap befell them; weary and footsore they reached the
castle, but the heaviest heart amongst them was that of Hugo.

CHAPTER XI. ALIVE--OR DEAD?

The reader will remember that we left Etienne of Aescendune cum
Malville and his band in a most critical moment--lost in a
wilderness full of enemies of unknown number and uncertain
position; but with a gleam of comfort in the shape of a light which
had arisen out of the gloom before them.

"It is one of the rascals carrying a torch. Let loose the dogs; if
they but seize him, we can extort the whole truth; then we shall
know what to do."

Ralph immediately slipped the older and fiercer hound, and tried to
set him on the destined prey; but to his astonishment the beast
bounded forward but a few yards, then returned with its tail
between its legs and whined piteously.

"Are we all bewitched?" exclaimed Etienne.

"Witches and warlocks are said to abound in these woods, and many
other works of Satan also."

"The light goes steadily onwards: it is a man carrying a torch; let
us follow him up."

They followed rapidly, the torch going smoothly on before them,
when all at once the whole party fell into a miry slough up to
their waists.

The deceitful light danced about in a joyous manner, as if it were
mocking them, and then went out and left them all in utter
darkness, struggling vainly in the mud and slime.

"Where are we?" said Pierre, piteously.

"In the Dismal Swamp," said Ralph.

"Amongst toads and snakes," cried another.

At this moment half-a-dozen lights appeared in various directions.

"Good heavens, the place is alive with marsh fires."

"They are what the English call Jack-o'-lanterns."

"They are ignes fatui," said Pierre.

"They are the souls of unbaptized babies," said Ralph. "Let us try
to return to the firm ground we have left."

More easily said than done. Our unfortunate Normans struggled
vainly in the darkness and in the mire, uttering piteous
exclamations--cold and frozen, and mocked ever and anon by some
blazing light. Many a vow did they make to our Lady of Sorrows, and
to St. Erroutt, St. Gervaise, St. Denys, and every other Norman
saint, till somebody suggested that the English saints might know
more about the morass, and they condescended to appeal to St. Chad
(mighty in those parts), beseeching his help in their distress.

Suddenly a piercing cry told that one was being s