Hard by the river, on the eastern side of the town, and beneath the high cliffs which rise almost precipitously to the isolated group of downs, there was a terrible charge, a hand-to-hand melee. Drogo of Walderne and Harengod, his sword red with blood, his lance couched, was confronted here by a knight in sable armour, his sole cognisance—the White Cross. They rode at each other. Drogo’s lance grazed his opponent’s casque: the unknown knight drove his missile through corselet and breast, and Drogo went down crashing from his steed. The combat went sweeping on past them, the desperate foes fighting as they rode. Edward and his horsemen, less and less in number each minute, still riding for the priory, straining every nerve to reach it; the others assailing them at every turn. The Earl of Warrenne, William of Valence, Guy of Lusignan, and Earl Bigod of Norwich, were separated from the rest of the band, and, despairing of attaining the prince again, rode across the low alluvial flats for Pevensey. By God, who is over us, much did they sin, That let pass o’er sea the Earl of Warrene, Much hath he robbed us, by moor and by fen, Our gold and our silver he carried hath henne {35}; Sang the citizens of Lewes afterwards of black Earl John. Let us return in the shadows of the evening, while the prince gains the priory with a few of his followers, by sheer valour, while the rest are drowned in the river, or lost in the marshes—let us return to the place where Drogo de Harengod went down before an unknown foe. “Dost thou know me?” said the conqueror, bending over the dying man and raising his helm. “Art thou alive, or a ghost?” says a conscience-stricken voice. “Nay, I am Hubert of Walderne, the cousin thou hast hated and injured. But our quarrel is settled now; thou art a dying man.” “Nay, not dying. I must live to repent. “Oh, the key! the key! Throw this key into the moat! “Nay, he will haunt me. Tell me, am I really dying? Nay, if it cost me my soul, I will not baulk my vengeance. Besides, it is too late! “Martin!” A rush of blood came to his lips, and Drogo of Harengod fell back a corpse on the blood-stained grass. Hubert gazed upon him a moment, then loosed the armour to give him air, but it was all over. “God rest his soul. Our enmity is over, but what did he mean about the key?” He felt in the gypsire of the dead enemy. There was a key, unsightly, rusty, and heavy. “Why, I remember this key. It is the key of the dungeon at Walderne. Whom can he have got there? Why is it here? What did he mean about Martin?” A horrible dread seized him—he could not resist the impulse which came upon him to ride to Walderne at once. He sought Earl Simon, obtained a troop, and started immediately through the dark and gloomy forest for Walderne. Chapter 26: After The Battle. We trust our readers are anxious to learn the fate of Martin, whom, much against our will, we left in such grievous durance at Walderne Castle.