As he rode out into the bright sunlight upon the road which led northwest toward Derby, Norman of Torn bowed his head in sorrow, for he realized two things. One was that the girl he had left still loved him, and that some day, mayhap tomorrow, she would suffer because she had sent him away; and the other was that he did not love her, that his heart was locked in the fair breast of Bertrade de Montfort. He felt himself a beast that he had allowed his loneliness and the aching sorrow of his starved, empty heart to lead him into this girl’s life. That he had been new to women and newer still to love did not permit him to excuse himself, and a hundred times he cursed his folly and stupidity, and what he thought was fickleness. But the unhappy affair had taught him one thing for certain: to know without question what love was, and that the memory of Bertrade de Montfort’s lips would always be more to him than all the allurements possessed by the balance of the women of the world, no matter how charming, or how beautiful. Another thing, a painful thing he had learned from it, too, that the attitude of Joan de Tany, daughter of an old and noble house, was but the attitude which the Outlaw of Torn must expect from any good woman of her class; what he must expect from Bertrade de Montfort when she learned that Roger de Conde was Norman of Torn. The outlaw had scarce passed out of sight upon the road to Derby ere the girl, who still stood in an embrasure of the south tower, gazing with strangely drawn, sad face up the road which had swallowed him, saw a body of soldiers galloping rapidly toward Tany from the south. The King’s banner waved above their heads, and intuitively, Joan de Tany knew for whom they sought at her father’s castle. Quickly she hastened to the outer barbican that it might be she who answered their hail rather than one of the men-at-arms on watch there. She had scarcely reached the ramparts of the outer gate ere the King’s men drew rein before the castle. In reply to their hail, Joan de Tany asked their mission. “We seek the outlaw, Norman of Torn, who hides now within this castle,” replied the officer. “There be no outlaw here,” replied the girl, “but, if you wish, you may enter with half a dozen men and search the castle.” This the officer did and, when he had assured himself that Norman of Torn was not within, an hour had passed, and Joan de Tany felt certain that the Outlaw of Torn was too far ahead to be caught by the King’s men; so she said: “There was one here just before you came who called himself though by another name than Norman of Torn. Possibly it is he ye seek.” “Which way rode he?” cried the officer. “Straight toward the west by the middle road,” lied Joan de Tany. And, as the officer hurried from the castle and, with his men at his back, galloped furiously away toward the west, the girl sank down upon a bench, pressing her little hands to her throbbing temples.