hated English King against
thine own son?"

"Thou be no son of mine, Norman of Torn," retorted the old man. "Thy
days of usefulness to me be past. Tonight thou serve me best swinging
from a wooden gibbet. Take him, My Lord Earl; they say there be a good
strong gibbet in the courtyard below."

"Wilt surrender, Norman of Torn?" cried De Montfort.

"Yes," was the reply, "when this floor be ankle deep in English blood
and my heart has ceased to beat, then will I surrender."

"Come, come," cried the King. "Let your men take the dog, De Montfort!"

"Have at him, then," ordered the Earl, turning toward the waiting
men-at-arms, none of whom seemed overly anxious to advance upon the
doomed outlaw.

But an officer of the guard set them the example, and so they pushed
forward in a body toward Norman of Torn; twenty blades bared against
one.

There was no play now for the Outlaw of Torn. It was grim battle and
his only hope that he might take a fearful toll of his enemies before he
himself went down.

And so he fought as he never fought before, to kill as many and as
quickly as he might. And to those who watched, it was as though the
young officer of the Guard had not come within reach of that terrible
blade ere he lay dead upon the floor, and then the point of death
passed into the lungs of one of the men-at-arms, scarcely pausing ere it
pierced the heart of a third.

The soldiers fell back momentarily, awed by the frightful havoc of that
mighty arm. Before De Montfort could urge them on to renew the attack, a
girlish figure, clothed in a long riding cloak. burst through the little
knot of men as they stood facing their lone antagonist.

With a low cry of mingled rage and indignation, Bertrade de Montfort
threw herself before the Devil of Torn, and facing the astonished
company of king, prince, nobles and soldiers, drew herself to her full
height, and with all the pride of race and blood that was her right of
heritage from a French king on her father's side and an English king on
her mother's, she flashed her defiance and contempt in the single word:

"Cowards!"

"What means this, girl?" demanded De Montfort, "Art gone stark mad? Know
thou that this fellow be the Outlaw of Torn?"

"If I had not before known it, My Lord," she replied haughtily, "it
would be plain to me now as I see forty cowards hesitating to attack a
lone man. What other man in all England could stand thus against forty?
A lion at bay with forty j