The news seemed to have greater effect in restoring Eustace than any of Gaston’s attentions.  He again opened his eyes, and made an effort to raise his head, as he said, almost instinctively, “Secure the gates!  Warders, to your posts!”

The men stood amazed; and Eustace, rallying, looked around him, and perceived the state of the case.  “Said you they had sent to summon the enemy?” said he.

“Martin said so,” replied Gaston, “and I fear it is but too true.”

“Not a moment to be lost!” said Eustace.  “Give me some wine!” and he spoke in a stronger voice, “How many of you are true to King Edward and to the Prince?  All who will not fight to the death in their cause have free leave to quit this Castle; but, first, a message must be sent to Bordeaux.”

“True, Sir Eustace, but on whom can we rely?” asked Gaston.

“Alas!  I fear my faithful Ingram must be slain,” said the Knight, “else this could never have been.  Know you aught of him?” he added, looking anxiously at the men.

The answer was a call from one of the men:  “Here, John, don’t stand there grunting like a hog; the Knight is asking for you, don’t you hear?”

A slight scuffle was heard, and in a few seconds the broad figure of Ingram shouldered through the midst of the men-at-arms.  He came, almost like a man in a dream, to the middle of the room, and there, suddenly dropping upon his knees, he clasped his hands, exclaiming, “I, John Ingram, hereby solemnly vow to our blessed Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of Glastonbury, that never more will I drink sack, or wine or any other sort or kind, spiced or unspiced, on holiday or common day, by day or night.  So help me, our blessed Lady and St. Joseph.”

“Stand up, John, and let us know if you are in your senses,” said Gaston, angrily; “we have no time for fooleries.  Let us know whether you have been knave, traitor, or fool; for one or other you must have been, to be standing here sound and safe.”

“You are right, Sir Squire,” said Ingram, covering his face with his hands.  “I would I were ten feet underground ere I had seen this day;” and he groaned aloud.

“You have been deceived by their arts,” said Eustace.  “That I can well believe; but that you should be a traitor, never, my trusty John!”

“Blessings on you for the word, Sir Eustace!” cried the yeoman, while tears fell down his rough cheeks.  “Oh! all the wine in the world may be burnt to the very dregs ere I again let a drop cross my lips! but it was drugged, Sir Eustace, it was drugged—­that will I aver to my dying day.”

“I believe it,” said Eustace; “but we must not wait to hear your tale, John.  You must take horse and ride with all speed to Bordeaux.  One of you go and prepare a horse—­”

“Take Brigliador!” said Gaston; “he is the swiftest.  Poor fellow! well that I spared him from our journey amid the mountain passes.”