He blundered off, calling himself the most imbecile fool that ever was; but before he had got across the orchard he heard Falconer hailing him. “Martin Valliant—Martin Valliant!” Martin had other matters to attend to. John Falconer could wait. But he gave him an answering shout, “Is that Master Falconer?” “Aye.” “All’s well.” “Let down the bridge, man.” “All in good season.” Martin ran to the tower, groped for the ring of the great stone, found it, and then remembered that he would need a light. The tinder-box and the candles were in Mellis’s room. He was about to go for them when he heard a sound of soft footsteps, and some one glided up the stairs. “Martin!” “I need a light.” “The tinder-box is above. Come to me in a moment.” He lifted the stone out, rolled it aside, and waited. He could hear the ring of the flint against the steel, and then her voice calling to him softly, “Here. It is lighted.” Martin climbed the stairs and found a candle burning outside her door. He picked it up, holding it in one big hand and shading it as though that flame was one of the most precious things in the world. The light played upon his solemn face, and mirrored itself in his grave, intent eyes. He held his breath all the way down the stairs; the flame was a flickering soul, and he was guarding it. So Martin lowered himself into the vault, and setting that precious candle on a stone bracket let into the wall, he made a great disorder among the stuff that was stored there. The idea of thoroughness obsessed him, of not letting Mellis lack for anything that might be of use in such a crisis. He made three journeys to the landing outside her chamber door, and the merchandise that was piled there testified to his sincerity. It included a suit of light mail; a woolen doublet and hose to be worn beneath it; a belt, sword and dagger; leather shoes; an odd piece of green cloth that bows had been wrapped in; some strips of leather; a green and blue banner rolled in a canvas bag. He left the candle burning there, and went down to lower the bridge for Falconer and his men. John Falconer had torches with him, and the causeway was a glare of light. Martin lowered the bridge and swung the gate open; Falconer came across. He stared at Martin Valliant. “Hallo! This is a queer way to go harnessed.” “There is much to be told.” “Is the child safe?” “She is in her chamber. Her men were ambushed this morning, and she was taken.” Falconer nodded understandingly. “You have been in the water, my friend?” “Swartz and I swam across to rescue her.” “Swartz? Peter Swartz?” “He is with us now. He went into the woods to raise an alarm, while I saved Mellis. Warn your men that he is a friend.”