“Fine philosophy, Martin Valliant, but God may leave a man with a noose about his neck. You would say that this is no affair of mine, nor is it, save that I have no lust for a man’s blood, or to see him kicking at the end of a rope. The Forest would be healthier than this sweet island.” Martin stood idle, the bill hanging in his hand. “I am here to serve,” he said. “My friend, you have drunk of the magic cup. A man might wound you, and you would hardly feel it. But my Lord of Troy is no child of dreams. You are but a rat—to be sniffed out by terriers.” “I am not alone.” “Thunder—that’s where the trouble lies. This child with the eyes of midnight wonder——” He shook his fist at Martin. “No frowns, no haughtiness, good comrade. Is she too miraculous to be spoken of by my lips? Why, by all the devils, have I no heart in me, and no liking for the gallant splendor of youth? You will be attacked to-day, not with ten men, but with fifty.” Martin answered him bluntly. “She has gone for help. We are not alone.” He stared down at Swartz, and Swartz’s eyes met his without flinching. “So—that is the game! I guessed it. There is the color of a red rose in all this.” “Guess what you please.” “A Richmond—a Richmond! The Forest is stirring with the wind, eh? And I am Peter Noside for the moment. Yes, and let me tell you one thing, Martin Valliant, your friends will need to hurry if they are to make this place good. There are cannon at Raychester. Oh, this great and happy madness!” He rose up, and walked to and fro. “What an old fool I am, but I could change sides to get a blow at my dear master. Why must some of us always rush to help the man who has his back against the wall? Hallo—hallo!” Shrill and clear came the scream of a trumpet from the valley. Martin Valliant and Peter Swartz stood looking at each other. “Troy, by God! And a summons. What did I tell you, comrade?” Martin dropped the billhook and took his sword, that was leaning against the wall. He stared hard at Swartz, as though to read the man’s soul. Swartz smiled at him. “No, I shall not stab you in the back, man; have no fear. Let us go up on the tower and look at the country.” He followed Martin to the leads, but did not show himself above the wall. Martin was scanning the valley. “What do you see, brother?” “A man on a white horse with a green banner, and on it a silver key. There is another man with a trumpet.” “Troy. What else?” “A knight in black harness, on a black horse.” “That would be John Rich. Nothing more?” “There is a shining of something, back in the beech wood.” “Steel, man, steel.” The trumpeter blew a second blast, and John Rich and his banner-bearer rode down nearer to the water. They were scanning the island, and had sighted Martin on the tower. “A summons, Greenshield.” “I have nothing to say to them.” “Then say nothing. They will take to other music.”