“Lead me to him.  Here is the key.”

Down the steps they flew, almost tumbling over each other in their eagerness.  The key was applied, the rusty bolt flew back, and Hubert was clasped in Martin’s arms.

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For a long while the spectators of this joyful meeting waited in the courtyard of the castle, which was thronged by men who had only been restrained by a merciful Providence from bending their deadly weapons against each other.  Now their thoughts were thoughts of peace, yet they hardly understood why and wherefore.

But after a while there was a commotion in the great hall, and soon Martin stood on the summit of the steps, worn and pale, leaning on the stout shoulders of Hubert.  Their eyes were both swimming in tears—­but tears of joy.  Cheers and acclamations rent the air, and it was a long while ere silence was restored for the voice of the late prisoner to be heard.

“Men and brethren, I thank you for your great love to me, and for the desire wherewith ye have desired my freedom, and jeopardised your own precious lives in its cause.  And now, if I am welcome”—­(loud cheers)—­“so must be my dear brother Hubert, Lord of Walderne by the will of the Lady Sybil, a true knight, a warrior of the Cross, and a friend of the poor.” (Loud cheers again).  “Many of you will remember the night when he parted from you, when Sir Nicholas, who is gone, introduced him to you as his undoubted heir, and many have grieved over him, and said, ‘Full forty fathom deep he lies.’  But here he is in flesh and blood!” (Renewed cheers).

“And now, O men of the greenwood, whom I love so dearly, let me, a child of the greenwood, speak yet a few words about myself.  For I am not only the last represent alive of the old English house of Michelham, but also a son of the house of Walderne; Mabel, my mother, being the sister, as many know, of the Lady Sybil.  Ah, well.  I seek a more continuing city than either Walderne or Michelham, and I want no earthly dignities.  Wherever God gives me souls to tend is my home; and He has given it me, O men of the Andredsweald, amongst my countrymen and my kindred, and to Hubert I leave the castle right gladly.  Now let there be peace, and let men turn their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks, and hasten the glorious day when the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of God and His Christ.”

“We will.  God bless Sir Hubert of Walderne.”

“God bless brother Martin.”

Drogo was forgotten, as though he had never lived, forgiven and forgotten.  And the multitude dispersed, each man to his own home or haunt in the forest, leaving Sir Hubert in possession of the castle of his ancestors, and Martin his guest.

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Martin’s first wish after his release was, as our readers will imagine, to visit his mother, and assure her of his safety in person.  Kynewulf was in waiting to escort him.  He had caused a litter to be constructed of the branches of trees, knowing that the severe strain Martin had undergone must have rendered him too weak for so long a journey; and the “merrie men” were only too eager to relieve each other in bearing so precious a burden.