In a passion of rage and terror Raoul sprang from his bed, and commenced hurrying into his clothes as fast as his trembling hands would allow him.  In vain he called to his servants; they had every man of them fled.  Below he heard the clash of arms, and the terrible guttural cries with which the Welsh always rushed into battle, and which echoed through the halls of Carregcennen like the trump of doom.

It was a terrible moment for the young Englishman, alone, half-armed, and at the mercy of a merciless foe.  He looked wildly round for some means of escape.  The tread of many feet was on the stairs.  To attempt resistance was hopeless.  Flight was the only resource left him, and in a mad impulse of terror he flung himself on the floor, and crept beneath the bed, the arras of which concealed him from sight.  There he lay panting and trembling, whilst the door was burst open and armed men came flocking in.

“Ha, flown already!” cried a voice which did not seem entirely unfamiliar to the shivering youth, though he could not have said exactly to whom it belonged, and was in no mood to cudgel his brains on the subject.

He understood too little of the Welsh tongue to follow what was said, but with unspeakable relief he heard steps pass from the room; for even his foes did not credit him with the cowardice which would drive a man to perish like a rat in a hole rather than sword in hand like a knight and a soldier.

The men had dashed out, hot in pursuit, believing him to be attempting escape through some of the many outlets of the castle; and Raoul, still shivering and craven, was just creeping out from his hiding place, resolved to try to find his way to the outer world, when he uttered a gasp and stood or rather crouched spellbound where he was; for, standing beside a table on which the dim light of a night candle burned, binding up a gash in his arm with a scarf belonging to the Englishman, was a tall, stalwart, soldierly figure, that turned quickly at the sound made by the wretched Raoul.

“Spare me, spare me!” cried the miserable youth, as the man with a quick movement grasped his weapon and advanced towards him.

He did not know if his English would be understood, but it appeared to be, for the reply was spoken in the same tongue, though the words had strong Welsh accent.

“And wherefore should I spare you?  What have you done that we of Iscennen should look upon you as other than a bitter foe?  By what right are you here wringing our life blood from us?  Why should I not stamp the miserable life out of you as you lie grovelling at my feet?  Wales were well quit of such craven hounds as you.”

“Spare me, and I renounce my claim.  I swear by all that is holy that if you will but grant me my life I will repair to the king’s court without delay, and I will yield up to him every claim which I have on these lands.  I swear it by all that is holy in heaven and earth.”