Old Sir Henry entered with me, and locking the door, seated himself on one of the chairs. He was a blunt, rough old fellow, but with a heart of gold, and he had thought much of me in the old days in Ireland. I had saved his life there once, when his horse had been cut down, and he had been left on the ground in the midst of the wild Irish. Seeing him thus, I had turned my horse and had ridden back, and catching him up across my saddle, had dashed forward to join our men, the savage kerns at my heels. He had not forgotten this, his first words told me that. "It was fourteen years ago to-day that thou didst save my life at the risk of thine own, when the rest of the men had left me to the mercy of the Irish," he said thoughtfully, his eyes absently fixed upon me. "I have the scar with me yet, and will bear it to the grave," and he laid his finger upon a great seamed place on his neck, where a rough scar ran half-way around it. "It was a close shave," I answered, as I threw myself upon the bed, "but yet thou didst pull through." "Yes," he replied, "thanks to thee. But, lad, I hope that thou wilt pardon the curiosity of an old friend, and tell me why thou art here. It is not all curiosity, believe me, for perhaps I can be of assistance to thee," and he lowered his voice to a whisper, and glanced around cautiously at the door. "Listen," I answered, "perhaps I will tell thee many things that thou wilt not believe. Thou hast asked for the truth, and thou shalt have it." And beginning from my abduction, I related the whole story of my captivity and adventures, omitting nothing, save only the part concerning my lady. When I finished he gave a low whistle of astonishment. "It is almost incredible," he exclaimed. "Had it not been thee, I would not have believed it. But why does this Dunraven wish to keep thee out of England?" "The same reason that has inspired hatred since the beginning of time," I replied--"a fair lady." "Ah!" he said, his shrewd old eyes upon my face. "And now I remember to have heard some talk of the rivalry for the favor of one of England's loveliest ladies. If she is as beautiful as they say, it is no wonder. "It is a strange thing," he mused, his rough hand upon his head--"this love of a man for a maid. For her he will do all things; will shed innocent blood; will stoop to any low and ugly deed; would walk through hell bare-footed, as I once heard a gallant say. Many have I seen turn their back upon wealth, honor and fame, upon home, kindred and friends, and leave all to win a woman--'tis strange. It has grown to be an adage that, 'all's fair in love and war,' and the little god has missed but few victims.