The blast of trumpets from the approaching troop aroused the inmates of the castle, and they flocked to their battlements to behold the pennon of Eustace de Blois, familiar to them on many a hard-fought field of old. Immediately there was bustling and saddling, and a troop of horse issued over the drawbridge to greet the coming guest. Foremost amongst them was the grim stepfather, and by his side rode Etienne. Imagine their surprise when they recognised Wilfred in the train of their visitor; we can hardly paint fitly the scornful looks of Etienne, or the grimness of the stepfather. But there was etiquette to be consulted--a most important element in the days of chivalry--and no question was asked until all the customary salutations had been made. "I see my son Wilfred has been the first to welcome thee; may I ask where he met thee on the road?" asked Hugo, of Eustace. "Many a long mile from here; I will tell thee more anon." "Did he return of his own free will?" thought the baron, but politeness forced him to wait his guest's own time for the dialogue which he felt awaited him. Meanwhile Etienne had regaled Wilfred with a succession of scornful glances, which, strange to say, did not affect the latter much--deeper emotions had swallowed up the minor ones, and he could disdain the imputation of cowardice, although he could not but feel that his attempted flight would be ascribed by every one to fear of the combat, which had been offered to, and accepted by him, and from which he could not otherwise have saved himself. They dismounted within the courtyard, and Hugo made a certain communication to the seneschal. The latter came up to Wilfred as he stood listlessly in the crowd, the object of many a scornful glance. "The baron, your father, bids you to follow me." The old retainer led the way up a staircase. On the third floor there was a chamber with a small loophole to serve as window, through which nothing larger than a cat could pass. There was furniture--a rough table and chair, a rude bed, and mattress of straw. "You are to remain here until my lord comes to release you." The prisoner entered the chamber, and threw himself wearily on the bed, the door slammed with a heavy sound behind him, the steps of the gaoler (was he any better?) died away in the distance, and all was still, save a faint murmur from the courtyard below, or from the great hall, where the banquet was even now served. Hours passed away, and a light step was heard approaching--it was certainly not the baron's. Soon a voice was heard through the crevices of the rough planks which formed the door. "Wilfred, art thou here?" "I am. Is it thou, Pierre?" "It is. Why didst thou flee the combat? Thou hast disgraced thyself, and me, too, as thy friend." "I cannot tell thee." "Was it not fear, then?" "It was not." "Then at least vouchsafe some explanation, that I may justify thee to the others." "I cannot." "Thou wilt not." "If thou wilt have it so."