“Now by St. Remy, to whom the doves brought the sacred oil,” exclaimed Eveille-chiens, gaily, “this stinking crew can no more escape me now than birds can escape from the net of the fowler!” and, with exultation in his countenance, he turned to Ralph Hornmouth. “Not unless they have the wings of birds,” replied Hornmouth; “for nought else could save them at the press to which matters have come.” “But mark you how boldly they show themselves,” said Eveille-chiens, a little indignant that they treated his presence so coolly. “Sir squire,” added he, gravely, “deem you that they have gathered much booty into this stronghold of theirs?” “Fair sir,” answered Hornmouth, “small chance is there, I trow, of booty being collected by men who follow William de Collingham, who has ever been like the rolling stone that gathers no moss. Besides, if my eyes see aright, they are so poverty-stricken that the beggar would disdain the ragged clothes they wear; and I have heard that when Master Icingla, who is known to your soldiers as ‘White Jacket,’ and six others of the gang fought last week, one to three, against the captain of Bramber, whom the French call Bastard of Melun, and the captain’s mail was well-nigh hacked to pieces, and his sword-arm so disabled that he is never like to couch lance again, he had little to cover his nakedness save his boots, and the long white garment by which he is known to his enemies.” “Ha, sir squire!” exclaimed Eveille-chiens, vindictively; “you do well to remind me that I owe this White Jacket the only kind of debt which I never, by any chance, forget or fail to pay. If I take him alive I’ll have his eyes put out and his hands cut off by the wrists. By St. Remy, the Bastard of Melun shall have such revenge on the outlaw as I can inflict on his behalf.” With such feelings, Eveille-chiens pushed on the labours of the men who, under the protection of Hornmouth’s crossbowmen and archers, were busy with the construction of a causeway by which the cavalry might pass the morass, enter the island, and charge and trample down the English patriots in a mass. Collingham, however, offered no interruption to the operations; and on the second day the aspect of the island was such, and the silence so unbroken, that Hornmouth began to suspect that Collingham meditated some desperate achievement, or had sure intelligence that Philip de Albini and John Marshal were coming to his rescue. About the close of the third day all doubts as to the state of the camp, and the cause of no interruption having taken place, were set at rest.