l.

Now all the truth dawned upon me, as if I had read it in a book. Peter,
little as I dreamed it, had both known me and guessed my errand. He had
overheard enough to know where the Captain was, and how he might revenge
himself on me. He had contrived to slip away at Knockfergus, and, being
better guided than we, had reached Castleroe in time to warn the villain
of my coming. Whether he lent his hand to the carrying off of the two
maids, 'twas hard to say. But it seemed plain that, at the first
warning, they had been carried off, and that the Captain that night had
ridden away, not to leave them behind, but to make good his possession
of them elsewhere. Why Peter should be left hanging thus, 'twas not
hard to guess. He never played straight even in villainy, and doubtless
had given the Captain reason to desire the shortest way to be rid of
him. As for me, thanks to Peter, the villain had known me through my
disguise, and, God knows! he had had his revenge on me this night.

While I speculated thus, I wandered to and fro in the house like a man
distraught, till presently my footsteps brought me back to a little
chamber at the end of the long passage into which I had scarce dared
peep before. The dawn had already begun to chase the night away, and
was flooding the room with a flush of light that suited its sacredness
better than my flaring torch. So I left that without and entered in the
twilight.

All was in the sweet confusion of a chamber whose owner expects to
return to it anon. The bed had not been disturbed since it was last
settled. Raiment lay scattered here and there. On the table lay a book
open, and beside it a jewel. What moved me most was a little scarf
which lay for a coverlet over the pillow on the bed. For it was the
self-same scarf I had once seen Ludar fasten round the maiden's neck
that night she took the helm beside him on board the _Misericorde_.

I durst touch nothing I saw, yet that single glance roused fires within
me which, if it be a sin to hate one's enemy, will assuredly stand to my
hurt in the day of reckoning. Yet how could mortal man stand thus and
not be stirred?

I passed on softly into the tiny chamber beyond.

There the air was fragrant with the scent of a sprig of honeysuckle that
lay yet unwithered in the window. On the floor lay scattered a few
papers, written in a notable poetic hand, and addressed--as I could not
but read--"To one who bade the poet give o'er