ized De Conde and
rushed him to the far side of the room.

"Here it is," she whispered joyously, "here it has been all the time."
Running her fingers along the molding until she found a little hidden
spring, she pushed it, and one of the great panels swung slowly in,
revealing the yawning mouth of a black opening behind.

Quickly the girl entered, pulling De Conde after her, and as the panel
swung quietly into place, the Earl of Buckingham with a dozen men
entered the apartment.

"The devil take them," cried De Fulm. "Where can they have gone? Surely
we were right behind them."

"It is passing strange, My Lord," replied one of the men. "Let us try
the floor above, and the towers; for of a surety they have not come this
way." And the party retraced its steps, leaving the apartment empty.

Behind the panel, the girl stood shrinking close to De Conde, her hand
still in his.

"Where now?" he asked. "Or do we stay hidden here like frightened chicks
until the war is over and the Baron returns to let us out of this musty
hole?"

"Wait," she answered, "until I quiet my nerves a little. I am all
unstrung." He felt her body tremble as it pressed against his.

With the spirit of protection strong within him, what wonder that his
arm fell about her shoulder as though to say, fear not, for I be brave
and powerful; naught can harm you while I am here.

Presently she reached her hands up to his face, made brave to do it by
the sheltering darkness.

"Roger," she whispered, her tongue halting over the familiar name.
"I thought that they had killed you, and all for me, for my foolish
stubbornness. Canst forgive me?"

"Forgive?" he asked, smiling to himself. "Forgive being given an
opportunity to fight? There be nothing to forgive, Joan, unless it be
that I should ask forgiveness for protecting thee so poorly."

"Do not say that," she commanded. "Never was such bravery or such
swordsmanship in all the world before; never such a man."

He did not answer. His mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts. The
feel of her hands as they had lingered momentarily, and with a vague
caress upon his cheek, and the pressure of her body as she leaned
against him sent the hot blood coursing through his veins. He was
puzzled, for he had not dreamed that friendship was so sweet. That she
did not shrink from his encircling arms should have told him much, but
Norman of Torn was slow to realize that a woman might look upon him with
love. Nor h