"And so the hermit bids me lay aside thoughts of revenge," he muttered. "’Tis easy to say that, when he himself confessed that he had taken his revenge. Can I have been mistaken? Did she not run to him? The pretty wanton, having made me her sport, she spread her wings to other lures. But now he shall atone for it. Dead is she? ’Tis all a lie; part of the false fooling of his wanton wit. Traitor hath he been to his party, to his king, and to the cause. But his day is over. Mistrusted by Henry, he will be led away by his own conceit. Abandoned by a subtle and cold-blooded tyrant, he will die on the scaffold, or on the battlefield, sold to France, to secure his master’s ends, if he die not by my own hand, as I devoutly pray he may. And as for me? What hath my life been, and what hath been his? Because I have been true to my king and cause, I am disinherited by my father, and am a beggar, a fugitive, and an exile. Because he hath a fair sister, forsooth, he rises into favour, then changes sides when he sees which way the wind blows, abandons his party, and becomes a noble, a high power in the land, and Captain of the Wight. But his day will soon be over. And what hath life left to offer me? My father hath cast me off, my friends are mostly slain, and there are dark rumours of traitorous practices among such as are left. The gold of Henry of Richmond is doing its deadly work. But there’s Simon’s voice," he broke off, as a loud halloo interrupted his sombre thoughts. Getting up, he went to the door of the cave. It was now dark, and no objects could be distinguished in the depth of that gloomy chasm. The tide had risen, and the damp mists from the sea mingled with the spray which dashed among the fallen boulders far below. One step, one false move, and the man would have been dashed to pieces on the rocks beneath. "Sir Knight, art there?" bawled a gruff voice out of the blackness opposite. "Ay, Simon; I’ll place the plank anon." The wind had now risen a little, and whistled and moaned amid the fissures of the gorge; but above it, or in lulls of the breeze, the knight thought he heard sobs. "Marry, Simon, whom hast thou there?" "’Tis the little wench, master. She would come. I found her on the hill yonder coming from Appuldurcombe." "Why, what’s come to her?" But before the man could answer, a tearful voice called out,-- "Oh, father, they’ve killed Master Lisle," and then the sobs broke out in uncontrolled emotion. "Nay, nay, fair daughter, he is well enough; I learnt that much before I left the lists." The plank having now been safely adjusted, two figures advanced over it, and stepped into the light of the fire, which gleamed in fitful glimmer out of the fissure behind the bush. The childish figure threw itself into the arms of the stalwart gentleman, crying out as she did so,-- "Oh, I am glad! I should have grieved so sadly had aught evil happened to Master Ralph."