Then I was stirred by the strangest feeling that ever possessed me. I lost all interest in the man and his armor and in my captors. When the horse neighed I gave a sudden start. I examined him from his fetlock to his mane and from his head to his tail. At first a certain sense of familiarity shot through me. Then by degrees every suspicion of mine moulded itself into solid fact. Like a blast my brain told me that I had seen that horse before. It was the roan which I had brought with me from home—which I had ridden as far as the scrivener’s house in the woods—which was stolen from me by the two men whom De Marsac had set upon me. That horse, in one word, was mine! The man in armor raised his hand. We had all come to a halt and for a second there was empty silence. “You cannot pass,” he said in a voice that was strong and steady. “The prisoners which you have there must be given up.” His hand dropped. The captain thought before he spoke. “And who are you?” he demanded. “I am the ruler of all this waste land,” came the reply with a smoothness that went through us like a jar, “—of all these rocks and trees and the people, I am lord and master.” The captain furrowed his brows. “I never heard of you,” he answered. The man in armor gave a little laugh. “Have you never heard of the Abbot of Chalonnes?” he asked. CHAPTER XXVI THE ABBOT OF CHALONNES The captain gave a start. He stared a while at the man. A slow understanding smile curled at the corners of his mouth and he said, “There is no such person as the Abbot of Chalonnes. He is only a myth for the simple country folk to believe in. You are some one else.” The Abbot raised his hand. “The two archers, whom you have taken captive, are mine,” he said with great calm. “I have also an interest in the two lads. If you are wise, you will give them up.” The captain stiffened himself. “—and if I don’t?” he demanded. For a second there was no answer. The Abbot sat on his horse as silent as a statue without a stir. Then, with a gesture that was more convincing than words, he said, “Did you not hear the warning of the Dwarf?” A jar ran through us and even the captain recoiled. The Abbot had come to us straight down the road. The Dwarf, as far as we knew, was a mile or more behind us. How the two ever could have had an understanding was more than we could guess. But the captain was not easily rebuffed. “There are ten of us here, Sir Abbot,” he said pointing to his men. “You are but one. It is true you are clad in armor, but even at that you are taking a chance.” The Abbot took the reins again in his hands. “For the last time, I ask you,” he said, “will you give up your prisoners?” The captain fairly roared. “No!” he cried.