"How chanced it?" echoed Job, clinging to the first question. "Nay, mistress, that I know not. I was on guard at the outer postern when, scarce two hours agone, Marie cometh to me, weeping. ’He is taken,’ she cried. ’Alas! the poor monsieur is taken, and mademoiselle will die.’ Thou knowest, mademoiselle, the foolish tongue of my sister. At first I could comprehend nothing, but at last it appeared that Monsieur de Coray had learnt, by some means, of which I know naught, that the French knight lay hidden in the forest; he divined also his hiding-place, but of this no word did he say to my lord, only commanding six soldiers, as by my lord’s order, to be ready shortly before midnight to accompany him secretly, and without telling their comrades one word of what they did. It would appear then that Monsieur de Coray led them to this so secret hiding-place and captured the poor knight, whom they brought back to the château. "The foolish Marie was distraught with grief, and for mademoiselle’s sake, I will confess, my heart was also heavy, but a soldier hath his duty, and therefore I remained where I was until a short half hour ago, when Marie returneth to me, white and weeping still more sorely. ’Alas!’ she saith, ’the poor monsieur—the lover of mademoiselle—is condemned to death; only hath he been given time for the good father to shrive him of his sins, and then, alas! he will be hanged, even ere dawn.’ After which the foolish one wept upon my shoulder, and I—I also wept for the sake of mademoiselle, for of the sins of this monsieur I comprehended naught, except that he was falsely accused of murdering Monsieur Yvon. But anon, Marie drieth her tears, and biddeth me light my torch speedily and go in search of you, mademoiselle, for she feared greatly for your safety, seeing that two hours had passed and you had not returned. At first I refused, for I am a soldier, mademoiselle, who must think of his post, but when Marie represented to me your danger, and promised to guard well my post till my return, I hesitated no longer, for, for myself, I also had my fears as I listened to the howlings of the wolves. And so, mademoiselle, I came, and the holy saints directed my footsteps in the way." "And he is not dead?" whispered Gwennola, with a quick gasp for breath, as she hurried forward. "He is not dead?" It was the only point which remained in her memory of all the honest Breton’s preamble. "Nay!" said Job slowly. "He was given time to be shriven, and Father Ambrose, being sick, had to be brought carefully from his bed, and methinks the good priest is little like to hurry over the last confessions of one who goes to death; nay, mistress, methinks he will surely yet live." "Merciful Mother of God, grant it!" cried Gwennola in agony. "Ah, see, Yvon, we are near at last; there, yonder, is the château; a few minutes——"