The man who had gone a-spying up the tower came and stood before Sir Gregory. “The priest is not this side of the door, lording.” John Falconer’s sullen eyes seemed to catch the light of the fire. “You lie!” “See for yourself, Master Falconer. What’s more, he is asleep across the door, for I could hear a sound of breathing.” A grim laugh went around the fire. Ironical looks were thrown at Falconer, who was frowning and biting his beard. Sir Gregory spoke. “Such insolence must be chastened; we must be rid of this bastard. Hallo, there! Axes for the breaking of a door.” A little man with a sallow face and bright black eyes stood forward. “The room has a window, sir.” “Well?” “Breaking the door is a clumsy device, and this Valliant is desperate strong. Why not use the window, gentlemen, and crawl in upon him while he is asleep?” “Most excellent! But will God give us a ladder twenty feet long?” “There is no need for a ladder. Strain a stout rope over the battlement so that it runs in front of the window, and men can slide down the rope.” “Well thought of.” John Falconer appeared to rouse himself from a sort of stupor. “Wait, gentlemen. Let no violence be done this man. He has served us, and will suffer for it.” “What would you, John Falconer?” “Let him be taken, mastered, stripped of his harness and his arms, and turned out into the woods. His blood should not be upon our hands.” “Plausible, very plausible!” “I stand for that—or nothing.” Sir Gregory chuckled. “By my soul, such a punishment is better than blows. There is a certain subtlety about it. I put my seal to the document. Some one fetch the rope.” The work was done noiselessly by men who crept about on bare feet, and without as much as a whisper. John Falconer and a dozen of his own fellows were ready on the stairs. Four men were to slide down the rope, enter by the window, and while three of them fell upon Martin Valliant, the fourth was to unbar the door. Nature willed it that Mellis and her man should sleep heavily that night, solaced by the innocent sweetness of being so near each other, so full of a happy faith in their great love. They slept like children, Mellis on her bed, Martin lying across the door, his arms folded, his naked sword beside him. He woke to a cry from Mellis. “Martin—Martin! Guard yourself!” The last man to enter by the window had slipped on the sill, and blundered against the man in front of him; and Mellis, opening her eyes, had seen him outlined dimly against the window. Her warning came too late. The fellows had thrown themselves on Martin before he could rise, and had dragged him from the door. One of them pulled out the bar, and threw the door open. He shouted to those on the stairs, and Falconer’s voice took up the cry. “Torches—torches! Forward! Up with you, and follow me.”