The old man took the office of guide upon himself, naturally, as the most experienced in woodcraft, and for a mile or two led with confidence; but at length the darkness became intense, and the guide paused.

The night was indeed terrible; it was as black as ink—­they could scarce see the uplifted hand when held before the face; while, to add to their discomfort, the snow, now they had changed their course, blew into their faces; the wind had risen and moaned in hollow gusts amidst the tree tops.  Its wailings seemed like prognostications of coming evil.

It was at this juncture Ralph was forced to confess he could no longer feel certain of the track.

“Let us trust to the dogs,” said he; “they have an instinct better than our reason.  Let them have long leashes, and go as freely as possible; we shall easily follow them, and, please God, shall reach home in time.”

“There is a better guide,” replied Etienne, as they all suddenly saw a solitary light, as from a man carrying a torch, arise before them in the darkness, and glide gently on into the depths of the forest.

CHAPTER X. EVEN THE TIGER LOVES ITS CUB.

We must once more use the privilege of an author, and transport our readers from the distant forest to Aescendune, speedily as the Genius of the Lamp transported the palace of Aladdin.

The November evening was setting in drearily, the fast-fading gleams of daylight were disappearing amidst thickly-falling snow—­it was the hour when tired mortals shut doors and windows, turn instinctively to the cheerful hearth, and while they hear the wind roar without, thank God they are sheltered from its blasts; and perhaps think with some pity of poor homeless wanderers, in pathless forests, or on dismal moors.

Troop after troop, the wearied and dispirited Normans returned from their fruitless chase, till all were safely housed, save one unhappy band.  First came the wicked old baron himself, with all his twenty retainers, safe and sound, then Bernard de Torci, who had won to himself an English wife and the manor of Wylmcotte; then Gilbert D’Aubyn of Bearleigh.  One after another the troops came in from the outer darkness, white with snow, and shook their mantles and jerkins in the guard chamber within the entrance archway, after which their leaders repaired to the bathroom—­for, in their way, the Norman warriors were luxurious—­and afterwards, perfumed and anointed, donned the festal robes in which they hoped to dazzle the eyes of the fair, if such were to be found in the Castle of Aescendune.

The hour appointed for the banquet was the first hour of the night—­six in the evening we should now call it—­and the Majordomo sought his lord.

He found him risen from the bath and vested in flowing robes of richest texture, with an ermine mantle around his shoulders.

“The banquet is ready, my lord, but the guests have not all arrived.”