very few moments the hall was cleared,
and Hordle John had hurled the last of the wild men down the steep steps
which led from the end of it.

"Do not follow them," cried Du Guesclin. "We are lost if we scatter. For
myself I care not a denier, though it is a poor thing to meet one's end
at the hands of such scum; but I have my dear lady here, who must by no
means be risked. We have breathing-space now, and I would ask you, Sir
Nigel, what it is that you would counsel?"

"By St. Paul!" answered Sir Nigel, "I can by no means understand what
hath befallen us, save that I have been woken up by your battle-cry,
and, rushing forth, found myself in the midst of this small bickering.
Harrow and alas for the lady and the seneschal! What dogs are they who
have done this bloody deed?"

"They are the Jacks, the men of the brushwood. They have the castle,
though I know not how it hath come to pass. Look from this window into
the bailey."

"By heaven!" cried Sir Nigel, "it is as bright as day with the torches.
The gates stand open, and there are three thousand of them within the
walls. See how they rush and scream and wave! What is it that they
thrust out through the postern door? My God! it is a man-at-arms, and
they pluck him limb from limb like hounds on a wolf. Now another, and
yet another. They hold the whole castle, for I see their faces at the
windows. See, there are some with great bundles on their backs."

"It is dried wood from the forest. They pile them against the walls and
set them in a blaze. Who is this who tries to check them? By St. Ives!
it is the good priest who spake for them in the hall. He kneels, he
prays, he implores! What! villains, would ye raise hands against those
who have befriended you? Ah, the butcher has struck him! He is down!
They stamp him under their feet! They tear off his gown and wave it in
the air! See now, how the flames lick up the walls! Are there none left
to rally round us? With a hundred men we might hold our own."

"Oh, for my Company!" cried Sir Nigel. "But where is Ford, Alleyne?"

"He is foully murdered, my fair lord."

"The saints receive him! May he rest in peace! But here come some at
last who may give us counsel, for amid these passages it is ill to stir
without a guide."

As he spoke, a French squire and the Bohemian knight came rushing down
the steps, the latter bleeding from a slash across his forehead.

"All is lost!" he cried. "The castle is taken and on fire, the