But Sebert’s hand silenced the tremulous lips. “No more, youngling! I adjure you by your gentleness,” he whispered unsteadily. “You owe me no such love; and it makes my helplessness a thousand-fold more bitter. Say no more, little comrade, if you would not turn my heart into a woman’s when it has need to be of flint. Sit you here on the ledge the while that I take one more turn. You will not? Then come with me, and we will make the round together, and apply our wits once more to the riddle. Until swords have put an end to me, I shall not cease to believe that it has an answer.” Below, in the dense blackness of the forest, an occasional owl sounded his echoless cry. From still deeper in the dark, where the Danish camp-fires glowed, a harp-note floated up on the wind with a fragment of wild song. But it was many a long moment before the silence that hovered over the doomed Tower was broken by any sound but the measured tramp of the sentinels. It was Sebert who brought the dragging pace finally to a halt, throwing himself upon a stone bench to hold his head in his hands. “We cannot drive them off; that needs no further proof. And I do not see how we can hold out till the time that chance entices them away, when but one meal stands between us and starvation, and already we are as weak as rabbits. Naught can profit us save craft.” The dark head beside him shook hopelessly; but he repeated the verdict with additional emphasis. “I tell you, craft is our only hope; some artfulness that shall undermine their strength even as their tricks crept, snake-like, under our guard.” Turning in his seat, he set his face toward the darkness, clutching his head in renewed effort. No word came from the page, but a strange look was dawning in his upturned face. Whether it was a great terror that had shaken his soul or whether a joy had come to him that raised him to heaven itself, it was impossible to tell, for the signs of both were in his eyes. And when at last he spoke, both thrilled through his voice. “Lord,” he said slowly, “I think I see where a trick is possible.” As Sebert turned from the darkness, the boy struggled up and stood before him. “If they could be made to believe a lie about the food? If they could be made to believe that you have enough to continue this for a long time? Their natures are such that already it must have become a hardship for them to remain quiet.” The Etheling’s eyes were riveted on the other’s lips; his every muscle strained toward him. Under the stimulus the page’s words seemed to come a little less uncertainly, a little more quickly.