"They are coming back. They are coming back," cried one of the men from behind. The soldiers perceived the fact at the same moment; but their number was now becoming so great, one horseman riding down after another, that they seemed to meditate an attack upon the little pass which Chartley defended; and some of them rode up the bank, to take the party in the flank. "Mark you well, good men," said the young nobleman, raising his voice to its highest tones; "if one stroke be struck, the consequences be upon your own heads. I refuse not to surrender to a proper warrant, or any officer of the king; but, as a peer of England, I will not give up my sword to any simple soldier who asks it; and if I am attacked, I will defend myself to the uttermost." "Halt, halt!" cried one of the men, who seemed to have some command over the rest. "Ride away for Sir William Catesby. He is on the road just round the corner." "There he comes, I think," cried another of the soldiers, pointing to a large party, riding at a rapid rate down the course of the little stream. "No no," exclaimed the other. "I know not who those are. Quick, spurs to your horse, and away for Sir William. These may be companions we shall not like. He is round the corner of the wood, I tell you." The man rode off at full speed; and the soldiers who were left drew somewhat closer round the little party in the mouth of the lane, while one or two were detached to the right and left, to cut off the woodman and the man who had accompanied him, in case they endeavoured to escape on either side. Boyd, however, confirmed to walk slowly and quietly down from the abbey, towards the group he had left below, casting his eyes from one side to the other, and marking all that was taking place, till at length, descending between the banks again, the scene upon the open ground was shut out from his eyes, and he could only see his own foresters, Lord Chartley, and the party in front. A few steps brought him to the side of the young nobleman; and he gazed at the ring of soldiers round the mouth of the lane, with a smile, saying, "What do these gentlemen want?" and then added: "Here are your friends and servants, coming down from Hinckley, my lord, so if you have a mind to make a Thermopylæ of the lane, you may do it." "Not I," answered Chartley. "Would to God, most learned woodman, that the time when Englishmen spill Englishmen's blood were at an end. Besides, I could not make it a Thermopylæ, for the only Orientals on the field are on my side;" and he glanced his eye to the good Arab, who stood gazing upon the scene, with his arms folded on his chest, apparently perfectly indifferent to all that was taking place, but ready to strike whenever his master told him.