“Well,” continued the squire, “the servants who sleep in his chamber to watch him on hearing him rise go to him, and next morning tell him what he has been doing, but he forgets all about it, and cries out that they lie. Sometimes they leave neither sword nor arms in his chamber, but when he rises and finds them gone he makes such a noise as if all the fiends were there. They therefore think it best to leave his sword and arms, and sometimes he remains quietly in his bed, but only sometimes. Seldom a night passes without a scene.” “Ha!” exclaimed De Moreville, thoughtfully, “I little expected such tidings, and it behoves me to hasten my return to England and put matters on a better footing at Chas-Chateil. It is no time for a man who has lost his senses to be in command of a fortress.” However, in the thirteenth century the time required to pass from the banks of the Seine to the banks of the Kennet was considerable, and April was speeding on without De Moreville having appeared at the castle or giving any intimation that he was likely to come; and Sir Anthony became worse rather than better, declaring that nothing soothed him but the music of Pedro the page, and insisting more strongly than ever that Pedro had been sent to him by St. Anthony and St. Hubert at the very instant he had cried out to them for protection. By this time Pedro’s equestrian feat was all but forgotten. It had been a nine days’ wonder and nothing more. Yet one person had neither forgotten nor forgiven--namely, Clem the Bold Rider. In fact, Clem, feeling certain that there was some mystery in the business, and blaming Pedro for his mishap, had, under the influence of mortified vanity, vowed revenge, and continued to watch Pedro wherever he went when outside the castle as a cat watches a mouse it has destined as a victim. No matter at what hour he went forth or in what direction he turned, he was sure to meet Clem hanging about the courtyard, or the stable-yard, or the drawbridge talking the slang of the age to one person or another, but never without a sharp eye on Pedro’s movements. This was, doubtless, annoying. Pedro certainly looked much too innocent to have any evil intention. Still, one likes not to be watched every time he moves out to take the air. Now Pedro, since his reception into Chas-Chateil, had been quite free to go about wherever he liked. But there was one place from which he was strictly excluded, and that place was “the ladies’ walk,” which was strictly guarded by a sentinel. It was wonderful, by-the-bye, how this fact used to slip out of Pedro’s memory, and how many efforts he made by hook or by crook to reach that battlement. But his efforts were unavailing.