, yet more solemnly.

And far off, like an echo from another world, thin and sweet and
silver clear, a cock crew.

The blue leaping flame of the wild-fire abruptly ceased. The dawn
arose red and broad in the east. The piles of dead beasts shone out
black on the grey plain of the forest glade, and on the topmost bough
of a pine tree a thrush began to sing.

CHAPTER L

THE ALTAR OF IRON

And now what of Master Laurence, lately clerk in the Abbey of Dulce
Cor, presently in service with the great Lord of Retz, Messire Gilles
de Laval, Marshal and Chamberlain of the King of France?

Laurence had been a month at Machecoul and had not yet worn out his
welcome. He was sunning himself with certain young clerks and
choristers of the marshal's privy chapel of the Holy Innocents.
Suddenly Clerk Henriet appeared under the arches at the upper end of
the pretty cloisters, in the aisles of which the youths were seated.
Henriet regarded them silently for a moment, looking with special
approval upon the blonde curls and pink cheeks of the young Scottish
lad.

Machecoul was a vast feudal castle with one great central square tower
and many smaller ones about it. The circuit of its walls enclosed
gardens and pleasaunces, and included within its limits the new and
beautiful chapel which has been recently finished by that good
Catholic and ardent religionary, the Marshal de Retz.

As yet, Laurence had been able to learn nothing of the maids, not even
whether they were alive or dead, whether at Machecoul or elsewhere. At
the first mention of maidens being brought from Scotland to the
castle, or seen about its courts, a dead silence fell upon the
company of priests and singers in the marshal's chapel. It was the
same when Laurence spoke of the business privately to any of his new
acquaintances.

No matter how briskly the conversation had been prospering hitherto,
if, at Holy Mass or jovial supper board, Laurence so much as breathed
a question concerning the subject next his heart, an instant blight
passed over the gaiety of his companions. Fear momently wiped every
other expression from their faces, and they answered with lame
evasion, or more often not at all.

The shadow of the Lord of Machecoul lay heavy upon them.

Clerk Henriet stood awhile watching the lads and listening to their
talk behind the carved lattice of Caen stone, with its lace-like
tracery of buds and flowers, through which the natural roses pushed
thei