"Messire Jean! we have no cause against you," said an immense man, a farmer, coming up and laying hold of Jean's horse's bridle. "But we will not spare any of that Domme race. They are accursed--have they not been excommunicated by the Pope--by the Bishop? We do not spare a wolf-cub however piteously it whine, however young it be, to whatever sex it may belong; and if this be a cub of the were-wolf Guillem, shall we be squeamish? Swear to us she is not of the race, and she shall pass untouched. If not, we will kill her." Densely packed round him, brandishing forks and clubs and axes were the men, rendered savage by oppression, and now reckless by success. None were the retainers of the Del' Peyras. Jean knew not to what master they belonged. The men roared-- "Swear she is not Guillem's daughter, or we will kill her!" The moment was one of supreme danger. "Noémi!" said he hastily. "Hold out thy hand!" She obeyed, extending her fingers straight before her. "Swear! swear!" yelled the men. Then Jean plucked open his purse, drew out the ring she had sent by him to her father, and said, as he held it aloft-- "See all; I put it on her finger. Do you want to know who she is? Know all that she is the betrothed of Jean del' Peyra, son of the Sieur del Peuch de Ste. Soure." A shriek--a shriek of horror and agony. The attention of those crowding in on Noémi and Jean was diverted. Some men had taken up Peyrot le Fort, and had rammed him with their pitchforks into the fuming pyre of the charcoal-burner, then had massed on sods and clay, and had beat it down over him with their spades. "Ride! away! ride!" shouted Jean. CHAPTER XXI. A DISAPPEARANCE. THE old Seigneur del' Peyra was not exactly a changed man since his descent into and release from the oubliette; he was rather the man he had been of old with his dullness, inertness intensified. He spoke very little, never referred to his adventures--it might almost be thought that he had forgotten them, but that on the smallest allusion to Le Gros Guillem his eye would fire, all the muscles of his face quiver, and he would abruptly leave the society of such as spoke of the man who had so ill-treated him. Except for the sudden agitations into which he was thrown by such allusions, he was almost torpid. He took no interest in his land, in his people, in his castle. He sat much on a stone in the sun when the sun shone, looking at the ground before him. When the cold and rainy weather set in, then he sat in the fire-corner with his eyes riveted on the flames. One thing he could not endure, and that was darkness. The coming on of night filled him with unrest. He could not abide in a room where did not burn a light. He would start from sleep during the night several times to make sure that the lamp was still burning.