“They shall be fewer ere dawn, Roger, I pray God!”

“Master—­an I am slain this night, think ye I must burn in hell-fire—­ remembering these same notches?”

“Nay, for surely God is a very merciful God, Roger.  Hark!” quoth Beltane, and stopped of a sudden, and thus above the wailing of the wind they presently heard a feeble groaning hard by, and following the sound, beheld a blotch upon the glimmering road.  Now as they drew near the moon peeped out, and showed a man huddled ’neath a bush beside the way, whose face gleamed pale amid the shadows.

“Ha!” cried Roger, stooping, “thou’rt of Brandonmere?”

“Aye—­give me water—­I was squire to Sir Gilles—­God’s love—­give me—­ water!”

Then Beltane knelt, and saw this was but a youth, and bidding Roger bring water from a brook near by, took the heavy head upon his knee.

“Messire,” said he, “I have heard that Sir Gilles beareth women captive.”

“There is—­but one, and she—­a nun.  But nuns are—­holy women—­so I withstood my lord in his—­desire.  And my lord—­stabbed me—­so must I die—­of a nun, see you!—­Ah—­give me—­water!”

“Where doth he ride this night, messire?”

“His men—­few—­very weary—­Sir Pertolepe’s—­men-at-arms—­caught us i’ the sunken road—­Sir Gilles—­to Thornaby Mill—­beside the ford—­O God —­water!”

“’Tis here!” quoth Roger, kneeling beside him; then Beltane set the water to the squire’s eager lips, but, striving to drink he choked, and choking, fell back—­dead.

So in a while they arose from their knees and went their way, while the dead youth lay with wide eyes that seemed to out-stare the pallid moon.

Now as they went on very silently together, of a sudden Black Roger caught Beltane by the arm and pointed into the gloom, where, far before them, small lights winked redly through the murk.

“Yon should be Sir Gilles’ watch-fires!” he whispered.

“Aye,” nodded Beltane, “so I think.”

“Master—­what would ye now?”

“Pray, Roger—­I pray God Sir Gilles’ men be few, and that they be sound sleepers.  Howbeit we will go right warily none the less.”  So saying, Beltane turned aside from the road and led on through underbrush and thicket, through a gloom of leaves where a boisterous wind rioted; where great branches, dim seen, swayed groaning in every fierce gust, and all was piping stir and tumult.  Twigs whipped them viciously, thorns dragged at them, while the wind went by them, moaning, in the dark.  But, ever and anon as they stumbled forward, guiding themselves by instinct, the moon sent forth a pale beam from the whirling cloud-wrack —­a phantom light that stole upon them, sudden and ghost-like, and, like a ghost, was gone again; what time Black Roger, following hard on Beltane’s heel, crossed himself and muttered fragments of forgotten prayers.  Thus at last they came to the river, that flowed before them vague in the half-light, whose sullen waters gurgled evilly among the willows that drooped upon the marge.