the lacings of the helmet and
drew it off--then started back in wonder.

Instead of the dark curls and face of Roxford's lord there were
disclosed the tonsured head and pale features of the Abbot of Kirkstall.

"Pardieu!" he exclaimed, gazing down into the face already set in
death. . . "You were my enemy, yet had I known whom this suit encased,
methinks my arm had dealt an easier blow. Nathless, you were a better
knight than churchman and, mayhap, it was a proper death for you to
die."

Just then, De Bury's antagonist went by, running as easy as though his
mail were silk and shouting:

"To the keep! To the keep!" to those upon the walls. And behind him
came Sir John, and the squires, and Raynor Royk with all the troop.

Whirling about, De Lacy sprang after. But here had he and all the
others met their match; for strain as they might, they gained not an
inch; and when the foe reached the steps they were yet fifty feet away.

The door was open for him and rushing in he flung it shut, but with
such force that it missed the catch and rebounded--and at that instant,
De Lacy thrust in his axe and he and Dauvrey threw themselves against
the door and slowly forced it back. Then of a sudden, it yielded and
they were near to falling headlong.

Shouting his battle-cry, Aymer strode into the great hall and made for
the wide stairway at the opposite end, where the remnants of the
garrison were gathered for the final stand. There were but nine and of
them only the three in front were garbed in steel; and in the centre
was he who had held the gate against Sir John de Bury.

Out-matched and out-armed there could be for them but one end to the
melee; for though they held the vantage post yet it counted little
against those who were arrayed below them, eager to begin.
Nevertheless, they stood calm and ready, leaning on their weapons, and
showed no glint of fear. And De Lacy, in admiration and loath to put
them to the sword, raised his axe for silence.

"You bear yourselves as men deserving of a better cause," he cried,
"and I fain would not have your blood spilled needlessly. Yield
yourselves prisoners, and scathless shall you leave this castle within
the hour--all save one, if he be among you, the flat-nosed retainer of
Lord Darby. Him must I carry to the King."

A gruff laugh came from the figure in the centre and he swung his visor
up.

"Aye, sirs, be not surprised. Behold him you have dubbed Flat-Nose--by
t