“I am Richard de Tany of Essex,” said the oldest knight, he who had first spoken, “and these be my daughter and her friend, Mary de Stutevill. We are upon our way from London to my castle. What would you of us? Name your price, if it can be paid with honor, it shall be paid; only let us go our way in peace. We cannot hope to resist the Devil of Torn, for we be but ten lances. If ye must have blood, at least let the women go unharmed.” “My Lady Mary is an old friend,” said the outlaw. “I called at her father’s home but little more than a year since. We are neighbors, and the lady can tell you that women are safer at the hands of Norman of Torn than they might be in the King’s palace.” “Right he is,” spoke up Lady Mary. “Norman of Torn accorded my mother, my sister, and myself the utmost respect; though I cannot say as much for his treatment of my father,” she added, half smiling. “I have no quarrel with you, Richard de Tany,” said Norman of Torn. “Ride on.” The next day, a young man hailed the watch upon the walls of the castle of Richard de Tany, telling him to bear word to Joan de Tany that Roger de Conde, a friend of her guest Lady Mary de Stutevill, was without. In a few moments, the great drawbridge sank slowly into place and Norman of Torn trotted into the courtyard. He was escorted to an apartment where Mary de Stutevill and Joan de Tany were waiting to receive him. Mary de Stutevill greeted him as an old friend, and the daughter of de Tany was no less cordial in welcoming her friend’s friend to the hospitality of her father’s castle. “Are all your old friends and neighbors come after you to Essex,” cried Joan de Tany, laughingly, addressing Mary. “Today it is Roger de Conde, yesterday it was the Outlaw of Torn. Methinks Derby will soon be depopulated unless you return quickly to your home.” “I rather think it be for news of another that we owe this visit from Roger de Conde,” said Mary, smiling. “For I have heard tales, and I see a great ring upon the gentleman’s hand—a ring which I have seen before.” Norman of Torn made no attempt to deny the reason for his visit, but asked bluntly if she heard aught of Bertrade de Montfort. “Thrice within the year have I received missives from her,” replied Mary. “In the first two she spoke only of Roger de Conde, wondering why he did not come to France after her; but in the last she mentions not his name, but speaks of her approaching marriage with Prince Philip.” Both girls were watching the countenance of Roger de Conde narrowly, but no sign of the sorrow which filled his heart showed itself upon his face. “I guess it be better so,” he said quietly. “The daughter of a De Montfort could scarcely be happy with a nameless adventurer,” he added, a little bitterly.