“Oh, there were more amusing things happening then, that’s all. How’s your horse?” “We are neither of us the worse for our encounter. Do n’t you wish you could say the same for yourself?” “I do, and I thank you for your sympathy.” “Have you sent the woman to Lichfield?” asked the officer-in-chief of his subordinate. “Yes, Colonel; some two hours ago.” “Very well. We will relieve you of your prisoner. Take your men to Birmingham.” “Is there any truth in the Royalist rising there, Colonel?” “None in the least. Have you heard anything?” “Nothing but a rumor that there was an outbreak of some sort. I heard that a detachment from Lichfield was to leave for Birmingham.” “We will turn it back if we meet it. Good night!” At the word the lieutenant and his men marched off to the south, and Armstrong was taken in charge by the squadron of horse. A trooper was dismounted and his steed given to Armstrong, of whom no questions were asked, as he had expected. They seemed very sure of their man. The cavalry set off to the North, and De Courcy rode close beside his enemy, taking a delight in taunting him. To this enforced companionship the Scot objected and made appeal to the colonel. “Sir, am I your prisoner, or do I belong to this renegade King’s man? Who is in authority here,--you, or this Frenchman?” To this the colonel made no reply, nor did he order De Courcy to the rear, probably not wishing to offend one who seemed to be a friend of Cromwell’s. The angry Scot was forced to make the best of it in silence, while the Frenchman, very polite and jocular, pressed ironic services upon him, asked after the girl, and said he would use his influence with Cromwell to have a silken rope used at the coming execution of so distinguished a spy. It is ill to tamper with a Border temper, as the Frenchman soon discovered. Armstrong slipped his knife from his belt and held it in readiness, when his attention was drawn to the trampling of an approaching host in front of them, and he remembered that here was coming the troop from Lichfield, which expected to meet a body of the King’s men if the rumour from Birmingham were true. The rumour had no doubt been started by the riding North in hot haste of this courtier now at his side, at a time when such costume was not seen outside Oxford. Besides, the country was in a constant state of alarm, and the wildest tales were current, whose constant contradiction by afterevents did nothing to allay ever-recurring panic. Armstrong quietly gathered up his reins, watched his opportunity, and, instead of running his blade between the ribs of De Courcy, jabbed the point into the flank of the Frenchman’s horse. CHAPTER V.--SANCTUARY.