The minstrels took up their position on a platform near the wellhouse, and the gentlemen and ladies paired off in readiness for the dancing to begin. The music soon struck up, and away the couples went in the stately "Pas de Brabant." Ralph was standing in a state of dreamy joy watching the graceful figures of the ladies, before whom each chevalier bent the knee as he revolved in the intricacies of the dance. He was thinking how lucky he was, and how kind and lovely Yolande looked as she danced with sweet grace in a set with the Captain of the Wight for her partner, and the Sire de la Roche Guemené, with a pretty girl dressed in exquisite taste, as their _vis-à-vis_. As Ralph stood looking on, Newenhall came up to him. "Lisle, there’s a young damsel wishes to speak with thee. She’s outside the main gate, and cannot come in. Jock Osborn’s sergeant of the guard; he’ll let thee out, an there’s any hindrance." Ralph’s thoughts instantly flew to the events of the tilt. Somehow this little girl seemed to have a strange influence on his destiny. He went to the gate. The deep shadows of the huge towers were impenetrable in their opaqueness. He stepped out of the bright moonlight, his graceful figure gleaming in its gay attire, and flashing in the silver light, before he disappeared into the black shadow. The guards were keeping but a lazy watch. He pushed aside the little wicket-gate in the huge iron-studded door, and stepped out into the blackness, rendered all the blacker by the brilliancy of the landscape beyond. The shadow of the two noble towers and main ward was thrown clear and distinct across the drawbridge and road outside, while all beyond shone and sparkled in the moonbeams. A silver haze spread over the valley in the distance, and the sounds of music and revelry gaily vibrated behind. Ralph could see no one. He looked into the shadow of the great gate. There was a sound there--a faint rustle. "Little maid, is that you?" said Ralph. A sharp spasm, a burning pain, was the sudden answer, and Ralph knew no more. [Illustration: A SHARP SPASM WAS THE SUDDEN ANSWER.] Half a minute after, and Dicky Cheke sprang through the door. "Ralph," he cried, "Ralph, come back, ’tis a trap!" but all he saw was a figure disappearing in the silver haze over the brow of the steep hill. *CHAPTER XVII.* *HOW THEY WERE AT FAULT.* As Dicky Cheke darted after the figure which disappeared in the mist, he stumbled over some obstacle on the ground, and nearly fell. Recovering himself hastily, he stooped down to see what it was. The moon had risen higher, and the black edge of the shadow of the castle was receding before the silver light. "Holy Saints!" gasped Dicky, as he stooped down, and saw with horror that what had caused him to tumble was the body of Ralph Lisle, the gleam of his gay dress plainly telling who it was. "I have come too late."