“God be blessed; all the devils in hell seem loose to-night! A dance I have had of it, everyone’s enemy and no man’s friend. These Forest worthies have been hunting me like a pig. I had to take to the water and sit with my chin in it under the bank.” He was shivering. “My kingdom for a bit of lamb’s wool, brother.” “Where did you leave your clothes, man?” “On my lady’s table in the garden, God forgive me! But if those wild devils get a sight of such a thing as I am—I shall have a scythe blade between my ribs.” Martin was in too grim and sad a mood to see the ludicrous in Peter Swartz. He rose, went into the garden, and returned with the soldier’s clothes. “Corn in Egypt!” Swartz tumbled into them, his teeth chattering. “Hallo! those fellows are lighting a fire; they must be taught to love Peter Swartz. And I would not quarrel with some wine and a bite of supper.” Martin’s melancholy was not a thing that could be overlooked. Swartz discovered it, and ceased his prattling. “Why, man, things did not go amiss?” “No. She is safe.” Swartz was trying to remedy the disastrous haste of his undressing. “May the curse of the prophet fall on these tags and tatters! What ails you, man?” “Nothing.” “Then let it be nothing.” He stared hard at Martin, puzzled by his strange sullenness, but too shrewd to vex it further. “Old Falconer came in finely—like a pot boiling over. And Messire Fulk de Lisle has gone galloping home to Troy; he passed within five yards of me. Hallo—cheering! They are in great heart, yonder.” Those rough men in the ruined court of Woodmere had seen a vision, for Mellis had come out to them, clad in bright harness, her dark hair pouring over it, a naked sword in her hands. Behind her walked John Falconer, carrying a green and blue banner fastened to the throat of a lance. The men crowded from the fire, and from every corner of the courtyard. And she stood and spoke to them in a clear, calm voice: “Good gentlemen and comrades all, I thank you for coming to me. We have begun bravely. God speed King Harry!” They cheered her. “Shout, lads, for our captain.” “Mistress Mellis—Mistress Mellis!” “Let Roger Bland try to take ye from us.” “Aye, and there be more of us a-comin’.” Mellis’s eyes were restless, searching for something that she could not see. She turned and spoke to John Falconer. “Martin Valliant——” Falconer shook his head. She grew imperious. “Call him. He must be here.” “The man may have some shame, Mellis.” “Shame!” She flushed with sensitive wrath. “Shame! God forgive you. Ah! I see how things have sped!” Falconer’s eyes shirked meeting hers. “There may be draughts that men are loth to swallow,” he said dourly; “I did not make the world or men’s hearts.” She stood a moment, with dark, thinking eyes and a proud, hurt face. “I am young—still. Oh, these jealous tangles that men weave! Must we be little and thankless for the sake of fools?”