thoughts of his life.
His conscience was busy with accusing whispers--"Traitor! Coward!
Fool!" The unspoken words burnt into his brain, and fired his dark
face with the hues of a lurid sunset. He halted; no man could see him,
and he listened to the clamour in the glade. He heard an exultant bay
from one of his own hounds. The brute dared more than his master, and
was taking a bold share in the events of the moment; and the vindictive
master vowed to have the brave dog's life for outdoing him.

The spirit of mad hate was driving out the feeling of shame. He vowed
with an awful oath that Morgan should share the hound's fate. All men
were his enemies; why, then, should he spare them?

A hand of ice was laid on his hand, and he almost screamed with the
sudden shock and surprise; he had heard no footstep. He raised his
head, to find the stern, set face of Basil confronting him.

"What art thou doing here?" he cried hoarsely.

"Looking after thee."

"Begone, then; I'll not be dogged," exclaimed Windybank wildly. "If
these men see us, our dooms are sealed."

"Thine was almost sealed," said Basil curtly. "'Twas in thine heart to
play us false. Hadst thou held out the hand of friendship to yonder
herd of heretics, thou wouldst have found me to-night both thy judge
and executioner. Come, the time is ripe for action. I spare thee
because I need thee; but beware!"

Basil took the pony by the bridle and turned its head towards Dean
Tower. "Father Jerome awaits thee," he said, "and thy life hangs in
the balance. Go!"

And Windybank went.

[1] The ancient courthouse of the foresters; it still exists.

Chapter X.

MASTER WINDYBANK REBELS.

Andrew Windybank slunk away through the forest homewards. He had set
out to play the man; he sidled in through his own gateway like a
whipped puppy. Not once during his ride did he look back, and he
neither hurried nor loitered; the former he would not, and the latter
he dared not do, for he felt that Basil was watching him. Never for an
instant did he lose the consciousness that the beady, black eyes were
upon him. He felt them like two hot points in the middle of his back;
they burned and bored, and the flesh seemed to shrink away from them
beneath the taut skin.

For some time the sounds of the hunt came to his ears, but he heeded
them not. "I am out of the hunt in all ways," he said bitterly.
"Bugle-calls are not for me."

There is no more pitiable