He knew he was on the right track; for ever and anon his path would cross that which had been trodden by the feet of the boys and the horse earlier in the day, and his own quick eyes and the deep baying of the hounds told him at once whenever this was the case.  Upwards and onwards, onwards and upwards, sprang the brave lad with the untiring energy of a strong and righteous purpose.  He might be going to danger, he might be going to his death; for if he came into open collision with the wild and savage retainers of Maelgon, intent upon obtaining their prey, he knew that they would think little of stabbing him to the heart rather than be balked.  There was no feud so far between Llanymddyvri and Dynevor, but Wendot knew that his father was suspected of leaning towards the English cause, and that it would take little to provoke some hostile demonstration on the part of his wild and reckless neighbour.  The whole country was torn and rent by internecine strife, and there was a chronic state of semi-warfare kept up between half the nobles of the country against the other half.

But of personal danger Wendot thought nothing.  His own honour and that of his father were at stake.  If the little child left in their care were treacherously given up to the foes of the English, the boy felt that he should never lift up his head again.  He must save her —­ he would.  Far rather would he die in her defence than face her father with the story of the base treachery of his brothers.

The path grew wilder and steeper; the vegetation became more scant.  The heat of the sun was tempered by the cold of the upper air.  It was easier to climb, and the boy felt that his muscles were made of steel.

Suddenly a new sound struck upon his ear.  It was like the whinny of a horse, only that there was in it a note of distress.  Glancing sharply about him, Wendot saw Lady Gertrude’s small white palfrey standing precariously on a ledge of rock, and looking pitifully about him, unable to move either up or down.  The creature had plainly been turned loose and abandoned, and in trying to find his way home had stranded upon this ledge, and was frightened to move a step.  Wendot was fond of all animals, and could not leave the pretty creature in such a predicament.

“Besides, Gertrude may want him again for the descent,” he said; and although every moment was precious, he contrived to get the horse up the steep bank and on to better ground, and then tethered him on a small grassy plateau, where he could feed and take his ease in safety for an hour or two to come.

That matter accomplished, the lad was up and off again.  He had now to trust to the hounds to direct him, for he did not know what track his brothers would have taken, and the hard rocks gave no indications which he could follow.  But the dogs were well used to their work, and with their noses to the ground followed the trail unceasingly, indicating from time to time by a deep bay that they were absolutely certain of their direction.