Just as the sun sank they mounted the slope of the farther hill on the crest of which stood the manor-house backed by winds.

“The drawbridge is down, thanks be to God!” said Sir Andrew, “which shows that no attack is feared.  I doubt me, son, we shall find Acour flown.”

“That we shall know presently,” answered Hugh.

“Now, dismount all and follow me.”

They obeyed, though some of them who knew old Sir John’s temper seemed not to like the business.  Leaving two of their people with the horses, they crossed the bridge, thinking to themselves that the great house seemed strangely silent and deserted.  Now they were in the outer court, on one side of which stood the chapel, and still there was no one to be seen.  Dick tapped Hugh upon the shoulder, pointing to a window of this chapel that lay in the shadow, through which came a faint glimmering of light, as though tapers burned upon the altar.

“I think there’s a burying yonder,” he whispered, “at which all men gather.”

Hugh blanched, for might it not be Eve whom they buried?  But Sir Andrew, noting it, said: 

“Nay, nay, Sir John was sick.  Come, let us look.”

The door of the chapel was open and they walked through it as quietly as they could, to find the place, which was not very large, filled with people.  Of these they took no heed, for the last rays of the sunlight flowing through the western window, showed them a scene that held their eyes.

A priest stood before the lighted altar holding his hands in benediction over a pair who kneeled at its rail.  One of these wore a red cloak down which her dark hair streamed.  She leaned heavily against the rail, as a person might who is faint with sleep or with the ardour of her orisons.  It was Red Eve, no other!

At her side, clad in gleaming mail, kneeled a knight.  Close by Eve stood her father, looking at her with a troubled air, and behind the knight were other knights and men-at-arms.  In the little nave were all the people of the manor and with them those that dwelt around, every one of them intently watching the pair before the altar.

The priest perceived them at first just as the last word of the blessing passed his lips.

“Why do armed strangers disturb God’s house?” he asked in a warning voice.

The knight at the altar rails sprang up and turned round.  Hugh saw that it was Acour, but even then he noted that the woman at his side, she who wore Eve’s garment, never stirred from her knees.

Sir John Clavering glared down the chapel, and all the other people turned to look at them.  Now Hugh and his company halted in the open space where the nave joined the chancel, and said, answering the priest: 

“I come hither with my companions bearing the warrant of the King to seize Edmund Acour, Count de Noyon, and convey him to London, there to stand his trial on a charge of high treason toward his liege lord, Edward of England.  Yield you, Sir Edmund Acour.”