But Grimbald caught him by the shoulder, and they turned back towards the cell where Peter loitered at the wicket in the dusk, and the pony stood with tired and drooping head. They were half across the glade when a man came running after them, and they could see that he was armed. Grimbald swung round instantly, and stood with head thrown back, shoulders squared. A sword flashed not three paces from him before his lion’s roar made the dusk quiver. The man’s sword dropped, and he came to a dead pause. “Grimbald!” They caught each other as men do who love greatly, and for a moment neither spoke. Then Aymery stood back, and picked up his sword. “Denise? Is she here?” Grimbald’s forehead became seamed with lines. His short silence betrayed perhaps more than he could tell. “We came to find her, brother,” he said. “And she is gone?” “The cell is empty.” Aymery’s voice sounded harsh as the rasp of a saw. He swung his sword up and let it rest upon his shoulder. Even in the dusk Grimbald saw that glitter in the eyes, that fierce closure of the lips, that spreading of the nostrils. “The cell has been empty some days, I judge. I was troubled for the sake of Denise, for I had heard a strange tale from Oswald here. We came, and found nothing.” Aymery swung to and fro with swift, sharp strides. Then his sword shot out and pointed Oswald away. “Go. Out of earshot.” The man went. Aymery brought his sword back to his shoulder, stretched out an arm, and showed Grimbald something coiled about his wrist. “Look, a coil of her hair!” Grimbald bent his head, and then straightened with a deep-drawn breath. “This——?” “They put it under my door at Pevensey, the dogs! Yesterday I broke out and hid in the marshes. They gave chase, and I killed one of those who followed, and took his horse and arms. That was to-day. Then I galloped here.” He tossed his head, shaking back his hair, his eyes hard as a frost. Then he pointed towards the hermitage with his sword. “What is there in yonder?” He seemed to stiffen himself against the truth, challenging Grimbald to tell him all. “There is nothing, brother, but her bed, hutch and cupboard and the like.” “No more than that?” “Nothing.” Aymery bent forward slightly, and looked into Grimbald’s face. For a moment they stared each other in the eyes as though asking and answering silent questions. Then Aymery seemed to understand. “There has been some devil’s work here,” he said, and Grimbald told him Oswald’s tale, and showed where the hoof prints might be seen by daylight. “God knows the rest!” he said, smoothing his beard. But Aymery was kneeling, and praying to the cross of his sword. CHAPTER XVI