"Dost remember how we fruitlessly pursued Roger de Horn into the forest long ago, and how he once and again escaped the fate he deserved? Well, he has not escaped it to-day. He has been eating and drinking and sleeping with the soldiers of young De Montfort since they came here. And now he lies in the trench with the slain, and will trouble the earth no more. He has met the fate his deeds deserve, albeit not as we once desired." Hugh started at the sound of these words, and followed Gilbert quickly to the spot where the soldiers of Edward were burying the slain. If indeed this thing were so, he ought to know it for a certainty. "See there," said Gilbert, pointing downwards; "methinks there is no mistaking that face!" Hugh looked, and a slight shiver took hold upon him. "True enough," he answered briefly, as he turned away; "that is the dead face of him who was Roger de Horn." So Lotta was a widow! CHAPTER XXVIII. _THE FATAL FIGHT._ The mellow light of an August evening was falling upon the cloistered walls of the Abbey of Evesham, and in deep thought a martial figure was pacing the smooth sward of the quadrangle formed by the various buildings. The face of the Earl of Leicester was lined by care; but the light in the eyes was not quenched, and the old eagle look was even more marked than before, now that the features were more sharp and chiselled. One of the monks approached the Earl, and waited till he should pause in his walk. Then he delivered his message. "A party of riders has just arrived, asking for the Earl of Leicester, and one of them calls himself your son." De Montfort started, and looked round him eagerly. "My son? Then bid him come to me at once;" and as the monk retired, the Earl repeated slowly, "My son, my son--which son? Henry and Guy are with me. It can scarce be Simon. He will come with banners flying and the sound of martial triumph. Sure it must be Amalric, with news from my dear ones in the south. He comes in good time, I trust and hope, to witness another gallant victory." At that moment there was a little stir, and a few figures appeared in the archway which divided the grassy quadrangle from the outer world. Over the Earls face there flashed a look of welcome and pleasure. "Amalric it is," he cried; "come in a good hour, and with good tidings, I trust and hope," and he tenderly embraced his son as he spoke. Amalric knew nothing of the misfortune which had overtaken his brother. His heart was full of hope, and he eagerly made answer,-- "The hearts of the people are very warm in our cause. I have met with kindness and good-will wherever I have been. I have left my mother at Dover, where all men are her very loyal and true servants; whilst at Oxford all hearts are with us, and I have even brought thence a few comrades, eager to serve 'neath our banner once again."