“My Lord of Warwick, we knew not we were on your ground; we are pages from Kenilworth.”

The men who had seized Martin stood motionless at this, still, however, holding him, and awaiting further orders.

“Can this be true?” growled the Lord of the Bear and Ragged Staff.

“Yes, my lord, you see the crest of the Montforts on our caps.”

In his fury the earl had ignored the fact.

“Your names?”

“Martin.”

“Hubert.”

“‘Martin,’ ‘Hubert,’ of what? have you no ‘de,’ no second names?”

“We are not permitted to bear them.”

“Doubtless for good reason.  And now, what shall prevent me from hanging such nobodies, and burying you both beneath this oak, without anybody being the wiser?”

“The fact that you are a gentleman,” said Hubert boldly.

The earl seemed struck by the answer.

“Boy,” said he, “thou bast answered well, and second name or not, thou hast the right blood in thee; nor is the other lad wanting in courage.  But you must both answer for this.  Tomorrow I visit Kenilworth, and will see your lord.

“Release them, my men.

“Fare ye well till tomorrow.

“My poor Bruno!”

And the lads hastened home.

They told no one of their adventure, save Father Edmund, who not only did not chide them, but promised to plead for them if complaint were made to Earl Simon.

And very shortly, even the next day, the Earl of Warwick with an attendant squire rode up the approach to the barbican gate, and was admitted.  The boys had not long to wait in suspense:  they were soon summoned from their tasks into the presence of their dread yet kind lord, and his visitor.

As they were ushered along the passage of that mighty castle, both felt a sinking of heart, Hubert more than Martin, for the latter had far more moral courage than his lithesome companion.

“Martin, we are in bad case.”

“I am not afraid.”

“Do own you were wrong.”

“I cannot, for I do not think I was.”

“Say so at all events.  What is the harm?”

“My tongue was given me to express my thoughts, not to conceal them.”

“Then you will be beaten.”

“And bear it; it was all my doing.”

At that moment the heavy doors swung open, and they stood in the presence of the two mightiest earls of the Midlands.  They stood as two culprits, Hubert very sheepish, with his head cast down, Martin with a comical mixture of resignation and apprehension.

“How is this?” said the Earl Simon.  “I hear that you two killed the good deerhound of my brother of Warwick.”

“It was I, my lord, not Hubert.”

“They were both together,” whispered the Earl of Warwick.  “I saw not who did the deed.”

“We may believe Martin.”

“So thou dost take all the blame upon thyself, Martin.”