t, and now a head was bobbing up and down outside, the face looking
in at him, and swinging slowly from one side of the window to the other.
Even in that dim light there could be no mistaking those features.
Drawn, distorted and blood-stained, they were still those of the young
fellow-squire who had sat so recently upon his own couch. With a cry of
horror Alleyne sprang from his bed and rushed to the casement, while the
two archers, aroused by the sound, seized their weapons and stared about
them in bewilderment. One glance was enough to show Edricson that his
fears were but too true. Foully murdered, with a score of wounds upon
him and a rope round his neck, his poor friend had been cast from
the upper window and swung slowly in the night wind, his body rasping
against the wall and his disfigured face upon a level with the casement.

"My God!" cried Alleyne, shaking in every limb. "What has come upon us?
What devil's deed is this?"

"Here is flint and steel," said John stolidly. "The lamp, Aylward! This
moonshine softens a man's heart. Now we may use the eyes which God hath
given us."

"By my hilt!" cried Aylward, as the yellow flame flickered up, "it is
indeed young master Ford, and I think that this seneschal is a black
villain, who dare not face us in the day but would murther us in our
sleep. By the twang of string! if I do not soak a goose's feather with
his heart's blood, it will be no fault of Samkin Aylward of the White
Company."

"But, Aylward, think of the men whom I saw yesternight," said Alleyne.
"It may not be the seneschal. It may be that others have come into the
castle. I must to Sir Nigel ere it be too late. Let me go, Aylward, for
my place is by his side."

"One moment, mon gar. Put that steel head-piece on the end of my
yew-stave. So! I will put it first through the door; for it is ill to
come out when you can neither see nor guard yourself. Now, camarades,
out swords and stand ready! Hola, by my hilt! it is time that we were
stirring!"

As he spoke, a sudden shouting broke forth in the castle, with the
scream of a woman and the rush of many feet. Then came the sharp clink
of clashing steel, and a roar like that of an angry lion--"Notre Dame Du
Guesclin! St. Ives! St. Ives!" The bow-man pulled back the bolt of the
door, and thrust out the headpiece at the end of the bow. A clash, the
clatter of the steel-cap upon the ground, and, ere the man who struck
could heave up for another blow, the arch