Soon after, the Abbé Scaglia roused himself in the corner where he had ensconced him, and, moving quietly up, talked in a low tone for some twenty minutes with Lord Montagu. They then roused the rest of the party who had been supping there, and went down into the court-yard, where they found the horses of Edward Langdale and his companions. Their own were hidden in one of those deep vaults under the great tower which were common in most feudal castles, especially in border-districts, as a safe and silent receptacle of stolen cattle and horses. Though it was still raining, most of the party mounted and rode away, promising to send up a litter and a surgeon as soon as the road was passable. Lord Montagu himself said he would remain with the poor lad, and reascended to the chamber where he had left him. All was silent there: the wounded youth had fallen into a sleep which seemed calm, and the two blacksmiths were nodding beside him. The English nobleman then went up to the floor above, where he found Jacques Beaupré asleep across the door, and Pierrot sitting up, but rubbing his eyes as if he had not been long awake. In answer to the nobleman's questions, Pierrot detailed all that had occurred upon the road, and dwelt upon the gallant conduct of his young master. "He little thought," said the man, "that he was risking his own life to save the very man who would kill him. But I have often heard say that it is unlucky to rescue a man from drowning. As to this man in here, sir, I believe he is mad; for he has been walking about all night,--sometimes talking to himself, sometimes groaning as if his heart would break. I had better wake him, perhaps." "No, no! Let him sleep if he can," said Lord Montagu, quickly. "Well may he groan! Pray Heaven neither of us may ever have such cause, my man. When you hear him move, get him some wine. There is still some down-stairs. Till then, let him alone. If he sleeps, it is the best thing for him." Thus saying, he went down again, and, finding every thing as before, approached the window and gazed at the morning light, still pale and blue, spreading up from the mountain-edges into the rainy sky. After about half an hour, Edward turned painfully and asked for some water. His lord gave it to him with a kindly word or two, and the blacksmiths woke up and examined the wound. They seemed satisfied with its appearance, and one of them said, loud enough for Edward to hear, "He will get well, sir." Oh, what a blessed thing is hope! Those few words were a better balm than any druggist could have supplied. They brought with them, too, the thought of Lucette; and, beckoning to Lord Montagu to hold down his head, he whispered, "If I should die, my lord, I beseech you to write a few lines to the old Marquise de Lagny, to tell her the fact. She will be with the court of France, wherever that may be."