us?" said Joan de Tany.

"Let us not put it thus harshly," countered the Earl. "Rather let us say
that it be so late in the day, and the way so beset with dangers that
the Earl of Buckingham could not bring himself to expose the beautiful
daughter of his old friend to the perils of the road, and so--"

"Let us have an end to such foolishness," cried the girl. "I might have
expected naught better from a turncoat foreign knave such as thee,
who once joined in the councils of De Montfort, and then betrayed his
friends to curry favor with the King."

The Earl paled with rage, and pressed forward as though to strike the
girl, but thinking better of it, he turned to one of the soldiers,
saying:

"Bring the prisoner with you. If the man lives bring him also. I would
learn more of this fellow who masquerades in the countenance of a crown
prince."

And turning, he spurred on towards the neighboring castle of a rebel
baron which had been captured by the royalists, and was now used as
headquarters by De Fulm.

CHAPTER XIII

When Norman of Torn regained his senses, he found himself in a small
tower room in a strange castle. His head ached horribly, and he felt
sick and sore; but he managed to crawl from the cot on which he lay, and
by steadying his swaying body with hands pressed against the wall, he
was able to reach the door. To his disappointment, he found this locked
from without and, in his weakened condition, he made no attempt to force
it.

He was fully dressed and in armor, as he had been when struck down, but
his helmet was gone, as were also his sword and dagger.

The day was drawing to a close and, as dusk fell and the room darkened,
he became more and more impatient. Repeated pounding upon the door
brought no response and finally he gave up in despair. Going to
the window, he saw that his room was some thirty feet above the
stone-flagged courtyard, and also that it looked at an angle upon other
windows in the old castle where lights were beginning to show. He saw
men-at-arms moving about, and once he thought he caught a glimpse of a
woman's figure, but he was not sure.

He wondered what had become of Joan de Tany and Mary de Stutevill. He
hoped that they had escaped, and yet--no, Joan certainly had not, for
now he distinctly remembered that his eyes had met hers for an instant
just before the blow fell upon him, and he thought of the faith and
confidence that he had read in that quick glance. Such a l