ars shone serenely. Constans could not speak, but he pointed
them out to his friend.

* * * * *

Piers Minor, fighting in the press at the gate as became his stout
breed, chanced to rescue a boy from being crushed to death. The lad had
been crowded up against a projecting angle and was quite breathless when
the Stockader, arching his back against the pressure, broke the jam by
sheer strength and pulled the stripling out of his dangerous position.
But what a fine color came back into the white cheeks as the twain
recognized each other!

"You!" said Nanna, and at that moment she would have given all she
possessed in the world for just a skirt.

"You!" re-echoed Piers Minor, and immediately a horrible dumbness fell
upon him.

The thunder of the captains and the shouting filled their ears, but they
heard not, the red light of battle danced before their eyes, but they
saw not. Some miracle swept them clear of the struggle, and guided them
to the shelter afforded by a half-completed barricade of ox-carts. And
here Piers Minor, seeing that she trembled and edged closer to him like
any ordinary woman, took on a wonderful accession of courage.

"Little one!" he murmured, in his big, bass voice, and laughed
contentedly, just as though death were not standing at his other elbow.
But then Piers Minor was not a man to think of more than one thing at a
time.

"I have seen Ulick," whispered Nanna, "and he promised to give the
message to Constans. Surely he will do so--tell me?"

Piers Minor put his arm around her. "Of course," he answered, stoutly,
without comprehending in the least who Ulick was or what the message
could be about. But he did understand that she wanted comfort in her
trouble, and so he said and did precisely the right thing. All of which
was exceedingly clever for Piers Minor.

Some one brushed rudely against them, and Piers Minor turned in anger.
But Nanna laid her hand upon his arm. "Hush!" she said, "it is Prosper,
the priest."

The old man stood motionless for an instant surveying the wild scene
before him.

"It is the third day," he muttered, "the day of Doom. The day and now
the hour. So be it, lord; it is thy will, and I obey."

With the last word he wheeled and disappeared into the shadows. An
intuitive sense of the impending peril seized the girl. "Come!" she
panted, and dragged at her companion's sleeve. "It is the vengeance of
the Shining One. But there is a ch