e jumbled slain, or snarled and quarrelled over the
work.

"Here is good plunder of weapons and armour," quoth Roger, "'tis seldom
the outlaws come by such. Hark to that cry! There died some wounded
wight under his plunderer's knife!"

"God rest his soul, Amen!" sighed Beltane. "Come, let us hence!" And
forthwith he began to run. So in a little while they passed through
that place of horror unseen, and so came out again upon the forest
road. Ever and anon the moon sent down a feeble ray 'neath which the
road lay a-glimmer 'twixt the gloom of the woods, whence came groans
and wailings with every wind-gust, whereat Roger quailed, and fumbling
at his sword-hilt, pressed closer upon Beltane.

"Master," he whispered, "'tis an evil night--methinks the souls of the
dead be abroad--hark to those sounds! Master, I like it not!--"

"'Tis but the wind, Roger."

"'Tis like the cries of women wailing o'er their dead, I have heard
such sounds ere now; I would my belt bore fewer notches, master!"

"They shall be fewer ere dawn, Roger, I pray God!"

"Master--an I am slain this night, think ye I must burn in hell-fire--
remembering these same notches?"

"Nay, for surely God is a very merciful God, Roger. Hark!" quoth
Beltane, and stopped of a sudden, and thus above the wailing of the
wind they presently heard a feeble groaning hard by, and following the
sound, beheld a blotch upon the glimmering road. Now as they drew near
the moon peeped out, and showed a man huddled 'neath a bush beside the
way, whose face gleamed pale amid the shadows.

"Ha!" cried Roger, stooping, "thou'rt of Brandonmere?"

"Aye--give me water--I was squire to Sir Gilles--God's love--give me--
water!"

Then Beltane knelt, and saw this was but a youth, and bidding Roger
bring water from a brook near by, took the heavy head upon his knee.

"Messire," said he, "I have heard that Sir Gilles beareth women
captive."

"There is--but one, and she--a nun. But nuns are--holy women--so I
withstood my lord in his--desire. And my lord--stabbed me--so must I
die--of a nun, see you!--Ah--give me--water!"

"Where doth he ride this night, messire?"

"His men--few--very weary--Sir Pertolepe's--men-at-arms--caught us i'
the sunken road--Sir Gilles--to Thornaby Mill--beside the ford--O God
--water!"

"'Tis here!" quoth Roger, kneeling beside him; then Beltane set the
water to the squire's eager lips, but, striving to drink he choked,
and choking, fell back--dead.