'I trow,' said Peter Lanaret, 'I know the reason of the noble lord's absence; for, when that mooncalf Gregory hallooed the dogs upon the knobbler, and galloped like a green hilding, as he is, after them, I saw the Lady Emma's palfrey follow apace after that varlet, who should be thrashed for overrunning, and I think her noble brother has followed her, lest she should come to harm. But here, by the rood, is Gregory to answer for himself.' At this moment Gregory entered the circle which had been formed round the deer, out of breath, and his face covered with blood. He kept for some time uttering inarticulate cries of 'Harrow!' and 'Wellaway!' and other exclamations of distress and terror, pointing all the while to a thicket at some distance from the spot where the deer had been killed. 'By my honour,' said the Baron, 'I would gladly know who has dared to array the poor knave thus; and I trust he should dearly abye his outrecuidance, were he the best, save one, in England.' Gregory, who had now found more breath, cried, 'Help, an ye be men! Save Lady Emma and her brother, whom they are murdering in Brokenhurst thicket.' This put all in motion. Lord Boteler hastily commanded a small party of his men to abide for the defence of the ladies, while he himself, Fitzallen, and the rest made what speed they could towards the thicket, guided by Gregory, who for that purpose was mounted behind Fabian. Pushing through a narrow path, the first object they encountered was a man of small stature lying on the ground, mastered and almost strangled by two dogs, which were instantly recognised to be those that had accompanied Gregory. A little farther was an open space, where lay three bodies of dead or wounded men; beside these was Lady Emma, apparently lifeless, her brother and a young forester bending over and endeavouring to recover her. By employing the usual remedies, this was soon accomplished; while Lord Boteler, astonished at such a scene, anxiously inquired at Saint Clere the meaning of what he saw, and whether more danger was to be expected. 'For the present I trust not,' said the young warrior, who they now observed was slightly wounded; 'but I pray you, of your nobleness, let the woods here be searched; for we were assaulted by four of these base assassins, and I see three only on the sward.' The attendants now brought forwaid the person whom they had rescued from the dogs, and Henry, with disgust, shame, and astonishment, recognised his kinsman, Gaston Saint Clere. This discovery he communicated in a whisper to Lord Boteler, who commanded the prisoner to be conveyed to Queenhoo-Hall, and closely guarded; meanwhile he anxiously inquired of young Saint Clere about his wound. 'A scratch, a trifle!' cried Henry. 'I am in less haste to bind it than to introduce to you one without whose aid that of the leech would have come too late. Where is he? where is my brave deliverer?'