“It is a holy cause,” said Father Kenelm, who was present:  “God’s arm is bared for vengeance—­the blood of my martyred brethren cries aloud from beneath the altar.”

“And thou wilt say a mass for us?”

“It is my duty, since I may not fight with carnal weapons.”

“But, Ordgar, how dost thou propose to act?”

“They are scouring the woods daily, in search of some of us poor English, whom they may force by torture to be their guides.  I will throw myself in their way.”

“They will not harm thee, my son; they are too eager for a guide who knows the paths through the swamp.”

“But thou must not appear too willing,” said Beorn.

“Trust me for that; I will not promise to serve them till I have at least seen their torture chamber.”

“Ordgar, thou dost indeed show a spirit worthy of an Englishman; and while such live, I shall never despair of my country,” said the youthful chieftain.  “Should God restore me to the halls of my fathers, none shall be more honoured of his lord than thou; and shouldest thou fall, fear not but that English bards will be found to sing thy praises.”

A few days later Hugo was scouring the forest like a wolf in search of his prey.  His men-at-arms were scattered through the woods, seeking for tracks of men.  Huge dogs attended them, who were encouraged to explore every thicket.

They were near the Dismal Swamp.

All at once a dog gave the peculiar whine which indicated that he had found scent, and immediately afterwards started forward, his nose to the ground, followed by two or three others.

The men-at-arms followed, and Hugo amongst his retainers.

Suddenly they broke into open view of the chase—­a man was seen running before them for his life.

The dogs gave tongue and followed him so swiftly that it was with difficulty he could escape their fangs by climbing a tree.

It was a poor refuge—­dogs and Normans were speedily at the foot.

“Come down, fellow,” said Hugo, sternly, “unless thou desirest to be brought down by an arrow.”

“Mercy, mercy,” cried the fugitive.

“What dost thou fear?  If thou art a true man no harm shall befall thee.  We are not robbers.”

The Englishman, for such he was, descended, and was at once secured and bound to prevent his escape.

“Now, fellow,” said Hugo, “who art thou?  Whose vassal art thou?”

“My name is Ordgar, son of Haga.”

“Haga, formerly a thrall of my estate?”

“The same.”

“Where is thy accursed sire?”

“I cannot betray my father.”

“This is the very man we want!” said Hugo; “bring him along.  The torture will soon help him to find a tongue.  Surely the saints have heard our prayers and given him to us.”

A quaint idea of sanctity, that of Hugo.

They dragged the intended victim forward through the woods.  Once or twice he appeared to make desperate efforts to escape, but we need not say made them in vain.