“There are but four,” said Lord Claud; “and if one be Montacute himself, I doubt if he will stir from the inn.  He will try to keep an eye upon both, being a man full of cunning himself.  I reckon that he will send two men after you, Tom, and one after me.  I shall, after a while, pause, lie in wait, and kill that man.  Then I shall flee to the valley, get a guide who can show me the other pass, and make such way from the seat of peril that I shall be well-nigh across the frontier before Sir James knows that one of his quarry has escaped him.

“As for you, my boy, you may like enough escape with a sound skin, unless Montacute himself pursues, making three to one—­for one cannot trust these peasants to show fight.  But be the issue what it may, that is the plan I have thought out which gives the best chance of winning through.  If you escape, flee either back here, or perhaps, better still, to the protection of the monks.  For here these unwarlike peasants could perhaps give you little aid if hard pressed; but the Church will afford you sanctuary, and not even the wrath of Sir James himself will avail to wrest you from the hands of the monks, if you claim their protection.”

“It seems to me,” said Tom, throwing back his head, “that the peril is, after all, not so great—­not so great, indeed, as what we have faced many times before.  Let us carry out the plan, and whether good or evil follow, we shall have done our best—­and no man can do more!”

The two men gripped hands upon it, and the compact was sealed.  Tom rather exulted in the post of peril that was accorded to himself.  Perhaps in days to come the Duke would hear of it, and might reward him by some words of praise or thanks.

That same afternoon Tom felt his veins tingling again as they neared the lone little hut amid the whiteness of the low-lying winter snow.  He was about to launch forth upon the first solitary adventure of his life, and one which might be fraught with dire perils; but his heart quailed not.

Almost at once he was lost in admiration and amaze at the power displayed by Lord Claud in acting a part.  He began to draw his breath with apparent difficulty; his face looked drawn and ghastly; he clung to Tom’s arm as if for support; and it was difficult indeed to believe that he was not feeling really terribly ill.

They reached the hut and knocked.  The door was instantly opened, and Tom was certain he saw a gleam of malicious satisfaction upon the faces of the men, who welcomed them in with a show of rude cordiality.

There were but two rooms that could be called sleeping apartments, they said, and one was already occupied; but they would give up the other to the use of the sick traveller.  Lord Claud was speedily assisted thither, and the fire in the stove replenished.  He lay down upon the bed with a groan, and looked as if nigh to death.  The peasant chattered with the old couple, and it was plain that this sort of seizure was not very uncommon in those altitudes.