The boy sank down ashamed of this demonstration of useless anger, and listened quietly to the man’s story. We will go back to the time of the boys’ departure from home, and trace the history of Forest Castle and its proprietor. When De Forest had seen Cobham safe on his road to Wales, he had returned to his home, now so desolate. Contrary to his expectations, he had remained unmolested during the whole succeeding winter and spring; indeed, he had been so free from interruption, that Oldcastle had more than once ventured from his place of concealment to attend meetings for worship held in the castle or secluded woods, and to meet such of his friends as could be allowed to know the secret of his hiding-place. Through the summer there were rumors of danger; the archbishop’s soldiers had come within a few miles of the place, but, for some reason, had turned back, and, as the fall advanced, the little signals at the foot of the oak-tree pronounced all safe. One chilly November evening, when the first snow was beginning to fall on the leaf-strewn forest paths, and bare tree-branches, Lord Cobham sat in the hall at Forest Tower talking with its owner. Since the departure of the boys, it had been necessary to confide the secrets of the signals, the various passwords, and the concealed entrances to some one, and Sir John had chosen for this important post a young peasant, Charles Bertrand--he who was afterward to tell the tale of his misfortunes to the young master. This person interrupted the conversation of the friends by announcing that a king’s officer and a band of men had appeared suddenly at the gate, and were crossing the draw-bridge. Whatever might be their errand, Cobham must not be seen; so he went quickly out by the opposite door, barely having it closed upon him by the faithful Bertrand, when the visitors admitted themselves by the grand entrance. [Illustration: The Trial.--Page 76.] Sir John rose to greet them with dignified courtesy. The soldier did not seem to notice the greeting, but striding up to the table, demanded if he were Sir John of the Forest. "I am," was the reply, given in such a quiet, fearless tone, that the soldier’s rough manner was somewhat modified. "Then I arrest you for heresy and treason. Men, guard the prisoner and bring hither the guide!" Some of the men surrounded De Forest, while others led, or rather dragged in a peasant, who seemed ready to sink through the floor with shame and terror. "Now," said the commander, when he had advanced to the table, "look up, fellow, and tell us if this be your master or no." The man glanced up for a moment, but his head sank again when he encountered the piercing glance of his betrayed lord, and he muttered his answer almost inaudibly: "Yes, sirs, I know him." "And where is Cobham, who you say was sitting here not an hour ago? Come, the truth, or--you remember my promise," and he shook in the man’s face a rope, knotted into a noose.