is latter
word was that Bertrade de Montfort and her mother, accompanied by Prince
Philip, had landed at Dover, and that upon the same boat had come Peter
of Colfax back to England--the latter, doubtless reassured by the strong
conviction, which held in the minds of all royalists at that time, of
the certainty of victory for the royal arms in the impending conflict
with the rebel barons.

Norman of Torn had determined that he would see Bertrade de Montfort
once again, and clear his conscience by a frank avowal of his identity.
He knew what the result must be. His experience with Joan de Tany had
taught him that. But the fine sense of chivalry which ever dominated all
his acts where the happiness or honor of women were concerned urged him
to give himself over as a sacrifice upon the altar of a woman's pride,
that it might be she who spurned and rejected; for, as it must appear
now, it had been he whose love had grown cold. It was a bitter thing
to contemplate, for not alone would the mighty pride of the man be
lacerated, but a great love.

Two days before the start of the march, Spizo, the Spaniard, reported
to the old man of Torn that he had overheard Father Claude ask Norman of
Torn to come with his father to the priest's cottage the morning of the
march to meet Simon de Montfort upon an important matter, but what the
nature of the thing was the priest did not reveal to the outlaw.

This report seemed to please the little, grim, gray old man more than
aught he had heard in several days; for it made it apparent that the
priest had not as yet divulged the tenor of his conjecture to the Outlaw
of Torn.

On the evening of the day preceding that set for the march south,
a little, wiry figure, grim and gray, entered the cottage of Father
Claude. No man knows what words passed between the good priest and his
visitor nor the details of what befell within the four walls of the
little cottage that night; but some half hour only elapsed before the
little, grim, gray man emerged from the darkened interior and hastened
upward upon the rocky trail into the hills, a cold smile of satisfaction
on his lips.

The castle of Torn was filled with the rush and rattle of preparation
early the following morning, for by eight o'clock the column was to
march. The courtyard was filled with hurrying squires and lackeys. War
horses were being groomed and caparisoned; sumpter beasts, snubbed to
great posts, were being laden with the tents, be