Thus far their journey had gone without incident, though the real difficulty and danger lay ahead. Yet the largest part of what he fought in that moment was not fear, but a fatigue that bordered on despair. It was a sore trial to have ridden so far, and lived in darkness so long, only to arrive weary and unsure at the time of greatest need, when courage and decisive action were most critical. As he looked down at the garrison, and on to the Castle in the distance, he felt again his own frailty and insignificance. Rustic proverbs about weakness overcoming strength, and water (in time) eroding the hardest stone, brought little comfort. For Mary and his mother were imprisoned by the hands of men. Proverbs and faith would not free them, only active human resistance. His heart beat heavily against the cold ground. He knew what he must do. "How do we slip past them?" he asked Purceville. It was a formidable question. For behind the stables the stone rose sheer, a bony ridge forming one margin of the high peninsula on which the Castle was set: a long and difficult climb at best, to an uncertain end. It also forced them to leave the horse behind, and to abandon all thoughts of mounted escape. To the fore of the compound as well, there seemed little hope of stealth. The only road in passed directly in front of it, full in the glare of the watchfire. Beyond it, to the right, lay only a narrow stretch of rough greenbelt, then again the ground rose, rocky and untenable. Perhaps they might creep along in the far shadows, where the uneven turf met stone. But one false step, one noisy balk on the part of the animal, already restive, and they were as good as caught. Stephen stared directly at him. "We don't." Michael felt his blood run cold. "Stephen! You're not thinking of betraying---" "Of course not. If I wanted to turn you in, and try to reach Earl Arthur, I'd have only to raise my voice and we'd be surrounded at once. I will admit that I'd thought of it. But your way has certain. . . advantages." In a brief moment of unobscured moonlight, Michael saw that the Englishman's face had resumed something of its domineering cruelty, and realized that the tables had been turned once more. But there was something else at work there as well, some deep inner conflict, not yet resolved. And he knew, for all the anger and fear that now welled up in him..... He still needed this man's help. He forced his hand to loose its grip on the pistol, and his voice to remain calm. "What is your plan?" he said, as evenly as he could. "To walk right past them---myself on horseback, you tied to a length of rope behind. I'll say I've caught another prisoner, and am taking him to my father for interrogation." Again Michael forced back his emotions. "And what if one of those men knows of the rift between you, or Ballard is there himself?"