Thenceforward the young page Owen stayed in the court, doing his services deftly and quietly, with an eye ever on the king to do his bidding. One night, when a storm raged and the town lay dark and quiet, King Arthur sat in his hall. Sir Kay and Sir Bedevere told tales, or the king's bard sang songs to amuse him, while about them moved young Owen, noiseless of step, quick of eye, and as restless as an unquiet spirit. Anon the lad would pass through the arras, creep to the great outer door, and look at the porter in his room beside it. Then he would stand at the wicket and listen to the rare footsteps pass down the road, and when the rising wind keened and shrilled through the crannies, he would glance about him with quick looks as if in fear of an enemy. Once he went to Falk, the king's porter, and said: ''Tis a stormy night, Sir Falk. I doubt few are about the streets of Caerleon on such a night.' 'Few indeed,' said Falk. 'Yet methought but now I heard the rattle of a bridle in the distance, as if a steed stood in armour.' 'I heard naught,' said Falk. ''Twould be but the grinding of a chain beside a horseblock.' Young Owen went away, and sat where the king and his knights listened to the marvellous tales of the wise Gildas, who told of most terrible witches and warlocks in the wizard woods of Brittany. Again the lad approached the door and listened; then going to the porter he said: 'This drenching storm will tear the last poor leaves from the forest trees, I ween, Sir Falk.' 'Of a truth,' said the porter, ''tis overlate for leaves. They be stuck in the mire of the rides long ere this.' 'They could not be blown so far in this gushing storm,' said the page, 'and therefore I have deceived myself. But I thought I heard the rustle of leaves on the stones before the door but now.' 'It could not be,' said the porter; 'it was doubtless the gouts of water from the roof of the hall thou didst hear.' Owen went away, but in a little while returned, and softly opened the wicket panel in the door a little way, and looked forth into the roaring darkness of rain and wind. 'Think you, Sir Falk,' he said, going to the porter, 'that the witches from the woods of Denn do send their baleful fires on such a night as this to lead poor houseless wretches into the marsh below the wall?' The porter laughed. 'Thou'rt over-full of fancies to-night, young sir,' he said. 'Have no fear of witches. We're all safe and sound here till the blessed daylight comes, and none need stir out till then.' 'Methought I saw a flash in the dark but now,' said Owen, 'as if 'twas the gleam of a sword or a wandering marsh fire.' 'Not a doubt 'twas but a lightning flash,' returned the porter. 'Now go ye, for I hear the king moving towards bed. Sleep soundly, lad; no need to fear this night.'