oosts of
his town.

But all their efforts failed to open Martin's door, and they were
at their wits' end what to do. They heard a rumour that the battle
was lost, so they set men to watch, and prepared an ambush in his
own caste yard for Drogo, in case he should survive the fight and
come to hide, with especial instructions to take him alive, as they
intended to hang him from his own tower.

Meanwhile, through the dewy night, amidst the thousand odours of
the woods, rode Hubert and his fifty horsemen. They stayed not for
brake, and they slacked not for ford. All the loving heart of
Hubert went before him to the rescue of the friend of his boyish
days; suffering, he doubted not, cruel wrong and unmerited
imprisonment in a noisome dungeon. And ere the midnight hour he
arrived amidst the familiar scenes, and saw at length the towers
rise before him in the faint light of a new moon.

The sound of his horses must have been heard, but no challenge of
warder awaited them. When the party arrived they found the
drawbridge down, the gates open. What could it mean?

"It may be treachery. Look to your arms ere you ride in," cried
Hubert.

They entered the court through the gateway in the Barbican tower.
Instantly the gates slammed behind them, the portcullis fell, and,
as by magic, the windows and courtyard were crowded with men in
green jerkins with bended bows.

"What means this outrage," cried Hubert aloud, "upon the heir of
Walderne as he enters his own castle?"

"That you are in the power of the merrie men of the greenwood. If
you be Drogo of Walderne, surrender, and spare bloodshed: all who
have never harmed us to go free."

"Then are we all free. My men are from Kenilworth, and can never
have harmed you in word or deed. As for Drogo, he fell by my hand
this day in fair combat."

"Who art thou, then?"

"Hubert, son of Roger of Walderne, and I seek my brother
Martin--Friar Martin--whom you all must know."

Instantly every hostile demonstration ceased. The doors were thrown
open, and the men who, a moment before, were about to fly at each
other's throats, mingled freely as friends.

"Martin is below," they said. "Have you smiths who can force a
door?"

"Lead me to him. HERE IS THE KEY."

Down the steps they flew, almost tumbling over each other in their
eagerness. The key was applied, the rusty bolt flew back, and
Hubert was clasped in Martin's arms.

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