“Aye,” answered Lord Gilroy, still with the evil smile on his face. “The best of dogs and men do err at times. And yet, ’tis passing strange they are so set upon it. See! They course about and about thy little lodge and will not leave it.” Cedric cast a careless glance at the hounds. Then he said: “Come messieurs, can ye not alight for a moment and rest within? I cannot offer meat and drink for here we have none; but you may sit upon a bench by a fire while your men aid the hounds at finding the track again.” Lord Gilroy threw his bridle rein to one of the foresters, leaped down from his horse, and strode toward the door; and his nephew did likewise. Simon and the others withdrew to a little distance and dismounted by the brook where they called the hounds to them. When our most unwelcome guests were within the lodge, Cedric made haste to place for them the benches before the fireplace and again lamented that the place afforded nothing of refreshment. I made such talk as I might with both Lord Gilroy and Sir Philip, asking them of the tourney at Winchester where they had lately ridden, the deer on Gilroy lands and other like matters of no import. Gilroy’s keen gray eyes roved ever about the lodge; and after one or two courteous replies to my questions, he asked of Cedric: “Art sure, Grimsby, that that inner room contains no cask or wine-skin? ’Twould seem else that thy lodge is but meagerly furnished.” “Aye, ’tis so,” answered Cedric at once. Again our guest glanced keenly at Sir Cedric, while I breathed shortly indeed. But he said no more; and now I made diversion by asking Sir Philip if ’twas true that the Carringtons are Welsh descended. I knew full well ’twas not; and was hugely pleased when he denied it hotly and went on at greatest length to prove his family of pure Norman blood by reciting all the quarterings on the Carrington shield and their origins in the days before the Conquest. At last Lord Gilroy stood erect and said, to my great and joyful relief: “Welladay! We must fare on, if ever we are to take that runagate. The sunbeams already slope far to westward; and ’twill soon be—” But there his words were of a sudden checked; and he stood staring at a point on the floor beneath the bench, three yards away. There, where half an hour before all had been deepest shadow, the sloping beam of the afternoon sun now rested, and brought to clear and certain view _the iron collar_. With an oath he sprang forward and seized it. Holding it up before us, he read in a loud voice the graven words: “_Egbert, Thrall of William, Lord of Gilroy._” Cedric stood facing him; and none of us spoke any word. Then Gilroy flung the collar on the floor and burst forth: “Ah then! ’Tis even as I thought. One churl will help another in any strait.”