He forgot the query before he could speak it, however, for at that moment there was a sound of hurried steps on the stone stairs, and one of the armed watchmen from the top of the Tower burst into the room. “Lord,” he gasped, “some one is upon us! We thought first it was naught but the noise of the wind—then Elward saw a light. We swear they came not over the bridge, yet—” His words were cut short by a horn-blast from the darkness, loud and clear above the whistling wind. Though only one woman screamed out Edmund’s name, it is probable that the same thought was in every mind. Jests and laughter died on the lips that bore them, and with one accord the men turned in their seats to watch their master. His face had sobered as he listened; before the first echo had died away he had spoken swiftly to the fellow at his side. “Celric, get you down to the guard at the gate and inquire into the meaning of that.” When the henchman had left, he began a sharp questioning of the sentinel, and the noise did not begin again. Whispering, the women drew together like herded sheep; and the men left their barley beer, to stand in little groups, muttering in one another’s ears. An old bowman took his weapon down from the wall and set silently to work to restring it. In the quiet, the tap of the man’s feet upon the steps was audible long before he reached the waiting roomful. Every eye fastened itself upon the curtained doorway. Swinging back, the arras disclosed a face full of amazement. “Lord,” the man said, “it is Danes! None know how many or how they came there. And their chief has sent you a messenger.” “Danes!” For the first time in the history of Ivarsdale, the word was spoken with an accent of relief. The page turned from the fire with a cry of bitter rejoicing: “If it is Canute, I will go to him!” In the revulsion of his feelings, the Etheling laughed outright. “Since it is not Edmund, I care not if it be the Evil One himself; and it cannot be he, for Canute is in Mercia.” He rose and faced them cheerily. “Lay aside your uneasiness, friends; it is likely only such another band as we put to flight last month, that hopes to surprise us into some weakness. Let the signal fires blaze to warn the churls, while we amuse ourselves with the messenger. To-morrow we will chase them so far over the hills that they will never find their way back again.” Beckoning to Morcard, he began to consult him concerning the most effective arrangement of the sentinels; and there was a muffled clatter of weapons as men went to and fro with hasty steps. At a word from the steward, the women went softly from the room and up the winding stairs to their quarters, the rustling of their dresses coming back with ghostly stealthiness.