Pierre was seated on one of the fallen trees; Etienne was playing with the dogs, now only two in number, when the elder of them lifted its nose in the air, and then began to growl ominously.

“The dog begins to be uneasy,” said old Ralph.

“Another wild boar, probably.”

“Had we not better appoint a sentinel or two? we might be taken by surprise in this glade.”

“Ralph, where hast thou left thy manhood?  Art thou afraid of these shadows?”

“They were not shadows who burnt our farms.”

“I wish they had some substance, then we might get hold of them.”

“May I appoint men to keep watch?”

“It is not necessary,” replied Etienne, quite wilfully, for he had determined not to be advised.

The meal was now prepared, and the whole party gathered round the fire, arranging the logs so as to form seats.  They were soon eating with the zest of men who have had the advantage of forest air, when they were disturbed by another growl from the older dog.

Ralph looked uneasily round.

“He smells another boar, but one is enough for our dinner,” said Etienne, and they turned again to their meal.

Suddenly one of their number, a woodman named Gilbert, leapt up with a wild cry, and then fell down in their midst dead.

An arrow had pierced his heart.

The Normans rose aghast at this sudden intrusion of death, and gazed wildly around.

But all was yet silent, no war cry followed this deadly act of hostility—­the woods seemed asleep.

“To cover,” cried Ralph the forester, assuming instinctively the command; “let your own arrows be ready for these lurking cowards.”

And the Normans, sheltering themselves behind the trunks of the trees, stood, their arrows fitted to the string, to await the onset they momentarily expected.

But it did not take place, and after a trying pause of some minutes, Etienne, who had quite recovered his audacity, and who was a little nettled at being, as it were, superseded in the command for the moment, shouted: 

“Keep your eyes open and search the cover, the miscreants have probably fled, but we may put the dogs on the track.”

The obedient vassals obeyed, not without some hesitation, for they felt that the moment of exposure might be that of death.  Still they were forced to undergo the risk, and they searched the immediate neighbourhood, omitting no precautions that experience in woodland warfare suggested.

But all their search was in vain.

“Shall we blow the horn and summon further assistance?” said Ralph.

“No, we shall but recall the other parties from their duties,” said Etienne, not wisely, for the cause was sufficient—­they were at least in the neighbourhood of the foe whom all panted to discover; but he was angry with the old forester, and would receive no suggestion.

The dogs, although they ran hither and thither, their noses to the ground, seemed as much in fault as the men, and after an hour had passed in this vain attempt to track the invisible foe, Etienne gave orders to abandon the spot and resume their appointed task, for they had yet to explore a square mile or two of forest—­those nearest the morass.