The moon had again come out, and as Ralph lay on his back, he could just manage, by wriggling his head, to look on each side of him. He could see that the men who held him were rough figures, clad in coarse hairy clothes, possibly skins of animals. The moonlight fell on their hair and beards, giving them a wild and ferocious appearance; and long knives, whose hilts stuck out of their belts, gleamed in the silver light. Who were they, and what could they mean by attacking him? and, above all, how could they dare, in so small an island, to defy so powerful an authority as that of the Captain of the Wight? As he lay on his back, Ralph caught sight of a light; at first he took it for a star, but it flickered and flared in so strange a way, that he soon knew it could not be. Surely it must be a fire, and, if so, there must be men near. Ralph felt a hope of aid; he tried to shout aloud, but the first sound he uttered caused the man who was holding his arms to clap his hand over his mouth, and effectually to stop all further cries. In vain Ralph seized his arm with his disengaged hand. The other man, who was tired of holding his legs, had seated himself upon them; his arms were therefore free. He leant forward, and grasped Ralph’s hand, and roughly made him let go his grip of his companion. "Best give it up, young ’un," he said gruffly, as he held the arm in no gentle hold. "There’s naught can hear thee save the Gaffer and the sea mews." "Then what’s that light?" asked Ralph, as the man relaxed the pressure on his mouth. "’Tis the light on St Catherine, and ’tis a good mile or more away." "Then where am I?" "Where are you? Why, on the ground, to be sure," laughed the man. Ralph’s anger rose, but it was utterly useless, he could do nothing. After lying still for another minute or more, one of the men said,-- "The Gaffer is a long while; maybe he can’t spell out them words." "Surely he’s larnt his chriss-cross row long ago," said the other derisively. "Ay, right enough, mate, but them letters may be t’other sort." "Well, and if they be, ain’t he got Mistress Magdalen to read it for him?" "Hold your tongue, you lubber; here he comes." Ralph could just manage to see the head of his captor rising out of the mist, and from the distinctness with which he saw his figure develop, he knew the edge of the cliff must be very near, as indeed he had already seen. "Master Page, here’s thy missive; there’s naught in it that concerneth me, so thou mayest e’en take it to the Hermit of St Catherine’s; but when thou returnest to the Castle, give this message to thy lord; thou needest not to say who gave it thee--he will ask no questions." Ralph now felt his captors relax their hold, in another second he was free. He rose to his feet, the men had already disappeared. He looked round; there was nothing to be seen of any living being; only his horse was browsing tranquilly a few paces off, and two white bits of parchment lay on the grass.