“Keep under cover,” shouted Drogo. “There will be a fine gathering of arrows when all is done, and it will be long before these old walls crave for mercy. Keep up your courage, men. The fools have no means of besieging the place, and ere another sun has set, the royal banner will appear for their dispersion and our deliverance.” For he had heard from a sure hand that the royal army had reached Tunbridge, en route for Lewes, and would pass by Walderne, tarrying, perchance, for the night. Hence his daring defiance of the sons of the soil. Chapter 23: Saved As By Fire. And all this time the true heir of Walderne was leading the degraded life of an unhappy and most miserable slave in the palace of the “Old Man of the Mountain,” in the far off hills of Lebanon. The six months passed away, and still they spared our Hubert. Others were taken away and met their most doleful fate, but the more youthful and active slaves were spared awhile, not out of pity, but because of their utility; and Hubert’s fine constitution enabled him still to live. But he could not have lived on had he not still hoped. The tremendous inscription seen by the poet over the sombre gate of hell was not yet burnt into his young heart: All ye that enter here, leave hope behind. Some lucky accident, perhaps an invasion of the crusaders, might deliver him; but otherwise he would not despair while God gave him life. Again, irreligious as some may think his former life, he had great belief in the efficacy of the prayers of others. The thought that his father and Martin were praying for him continually gave him comfort. “God will hear them, if not me,” he thought. Yet he did really learn to pray for himself more earnestly than he would once have thought possible. But when a year had nearly passed away in the wearying bondage, he was summoned to the presence of the “Old Man.” “Christian,” said the latter, “hast thou not borne the heat and burden of slavery long enough?” “Long enough, indeed, my lord, but I cannot buy my liberty at the expense of my faith.” “Not when the alternative is a bitter death?” “No.” “Thy constancy will be tried. We have borne with thee full long. At next full moon thou wilt have had a year’s reprieve. Thou must prepare to worship the true God and acknowledge His prophet, or die.” “My choice is made.” “Thy time shall come at the close of the year. Go.” And Hubert was led away. And now he was tempted to yield to despair, when he was sustained by what may be called a miraculous interposition. It was dark night and he lay in his cell, the watchmen without, the yet more watchful dogs prowling and growling around; when all at once he heard footsteps approaching his wretched bed chamber. Who could it be? The dogs gave no sign; the oppressors generally slept at that hour, and seldom disturbed a captive’s nightly rest. The door opened, and—He beheld his father!