With the wind and rain at their backs, the little party rode rapidly along the muddy road, until late in the afternoon they came upon a white palfrey standing huddled beneath a great oak, his arched back toward the driving storm. “By God,” cried De Montfort, “tis my sister’s own Abdul. There be something wrong here indeed.” But a rapid search of the vicinity, and loud calls brought no further evidence of the girl’s whereabouts, so they pressed on toward Stutevill. Some two miles beyond the spot where the white palfrey had been found, they came upon the dead bodies of the five knights who had accompanied Bertrade from Stutevill. Dismounting, Henry de Montfort examined the bodies of the fallen men. The arms upon shield and helm confirmed his first fear that these had been Bertrade’s escort from Stutevill. As he bent over them to see if he recognized any of the knights, there stared up into his face from the foreheads of the dead men the dreaded sign, NT, scratched there with a dagger’s point. “The curse of God be on him!” cried De Montfort. “It be the work of the Devil of Torn, my gentlemen,” he said to his followers. “Come, we need no further guide to our destination.” And, remounting, the little party spurred back toward Torn. When Bertrade de Montfort regained her senses, she was in bed in a strange room, and above her bent an old woman; a repulsive, toothless old woman, whose smile was but a fangless snarl. “Ho, ho!” she croaked. “The bride waketh. I told My Lord that it would take more than a tumble in the mud to kill a De Montfort. Come, come, now, arise and clothe thyself, for the handsome bridegroom can scarce restrain his eager desire to fold thee in his arms. Below in the great hall he paces to and fro, the red blood mantling his beauteous countenance.” “Who be ye?” cried Bertrade de Montfort, her mind still dazed from the effects of her fall. “Where am I?” and then, “O, Mon Dieu!” as she remembered the events of the afternoon; and the arms of Colfax upon the shields of the attacking party. In an instant she realized the horror of her predicament; its utter hopelessness. Beast though he was, Peter of Colfax stood high in the favor of the King; and the fact that she was his niece would scarce aid her cause with Henry, for it was more than counter-balanced by the fact that she was the daughter of Simon de Montfort, whom he feared and hated. In the corridor without, she heard the heavy tramp of approaching feet, and presently a man’s voice at the door. “Within there, Coll! Has the damsel awakened from her swoon?” “Yes, Sir Peter,” replied the old woman. “I was but just urging her to arise and clothe herself, saying that you awaited her below.” “Haste then, My Lady Bertrade,” called the man, “no harm will be done thee if thou showest the good sense I give thee credit for. I will await thee in the great hall, or, if thou prefer, will come to thee here.”