When Norman of Torn regained his senses, he found himself in a small towerroom in a strange castle. His head ached horribly, and he felt sick andsore; but he managed to crawl from the cot on which he lay, and bysteadying his swaying body with hands pressed against the wall, he was ableto reach the door. To his disappointment, he found this locked fromwithout and, in his weakened condition, he made no attempt to force it.

He was fully dressed and in armor, as he had been when struck down, but hishelmet was gone, as were also his sword and dagger.

The day was drawing to a close and, as dusk fell and the room darkened, hebecame more and more impatient. Repeated pounding upon the door brought noresponse and finally he gave up in despair. Going to the window, he sawthat his room was some thirty feet above the stone-flagged courtyard, andalso that it looked at an angle upon other windows in the old castle wherelights were beginning to show. He saw men-at-arms moving about, and oncehe thought he caught a glimpse of a woman's figure, but he was not sure.

He wondered what had become of Joan de Tany and Mary de Stutevill. Hehoped that they had escaped, and yet -- no, Joan certainly had not, for nowhe distinctly remembered that his eyes had met hers for an instant justbefore the blow fell upon him, and he thought of the faith and confidencethat he had read in that quick glance. Such a look would nerve a jackal toattack a drove of lions, thought the outlaw. What a beautiful creature shewas; and she had stayed there with him during the fight. He rememberednow. Mary de Stutevill had not been with her as he had caught that glimpseof her, no, she had been all alone. Ah ! That was friendship indeed !

What else was it that tried to force its way above the threshold of hisbruised and wavering memory ? Words ? Words of love ? And lips pressedto his ? No, it must be but a figment of his wounded brain.

What was that which clicked against his breastplate ? He felt, and found ametal bauble linked to a mesh of his steel armor by a strand of silkenhair. He carried the little thing to the window, and in the waning lightmade it out to be a golden hair ornament set with precious stones, but hecould not tell if the little strand of silken hair were black or brown.Carefully he detached the little thing, and, winding the filmy tress aboutit, placed it within the breast of his tunic. He was vaguely troubled byit, yet why he could scarcely have told, himself.

Again turning to the window, he watched the lighted rooms within hisvision, and presently his view was rewarded by the sight of a knight comingwithin the scope of the narrow casement of a nearby chamber.

From his apparel, he was a man of position, and he was evidently in heateddiscussion with some one whom Norman of Torn could not see. The man, agreat, tall black-haired and mustached nobleman, was pounding upon a tableto emphasize his words, and presently he sprang up as though rushing towardthe one to whom he had been speaking. He disappeared from the watcher'sview for a moment and then, at the far side of the apartment, Norman ofTorn saw him again just as he roughly grasped the figure of a woman whoevidently was attempting to escape him. As she turned to face hertormentor, all the devil in the Devil of Torn surged in his aching head,for the face he saw was that of Joan de Tany.

With a muttered oath, the imprisoned man turned to hurl himself against thebolted door, but ere he had taken a single step, the sound of heavy feetwithout brought him to a stop, and the jingle of keys as one was fitted tothe lock of the door sent him gliding stealthily to the wall beside thedoorway, where the inswinging door would conceal him.

As the door was pushed back, a flickering torch lighted up, but dimly, theinterior, so that until he had reached the center of the room, the visitordid not see that the cot was empty.

He was a man-at-arms, and at his side hung a sword. That was enough forthe Devil of Torn -- it was a sword he craved most; and, ere the fellowcould assure his slow wits that the cot was empty, steel fingers closedupon his throat, and he went down beneath the giant form of the outlaw.

Without other sound than the scuffing of their bodies on the floor, and theclanking of their armor, they fought, the one to reach the dagger at hisside, the other to close forever the windpipe of his adversary.

Presently, the man-at-arms found what he sought, and, after tugging withever diminishing strength, he felt the blade slip from its sheath. Slowlyand feebly he raised it high above the back of the man on top of him; witha last supreme effort he drove the point downward, but ere it reached itsgoal, there was a sharp snapping sound as of a broken bone, the dagger fellharmlessly from his dead hand, and his head rolled backward upon his brokenneck.

Snatching the sword from the body of his dead antagonist, Norman of Tornrushed from the tower room.

As John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, laid his vandal hands upon Joan deTany, she turned upon him like a tigress. Blow after blow she rained uponhis head and face until, in mortification and rage, he struck her full uponthe mouth with his clenched fist; but even this did not subdue her and,with ever weakening strength, she continued to strike him. And then thegreat royalist Earl, the chosen friend of the King, took the fair whitethroat between his great fingers, and the lust of blood supplanted the lustof love, for he would have killed her in his rage.

It was upon this scene that the Outlaw of Torn burst with naked sword.They were at the far end of the apartment, and his cry of anger at thesight caused the Earl to drop his prey, and turn with drawn sword to meethim.

There were no words, for there was no need of words here. The two men wereupon each other, and fighting to the death, before the girl had regainedher feet. It would have been short shrift for John de Fulm had not some ofhis men heard the fracas, and rushed to his aid.

Four of them there were, and they tumbled pell-mell into the room, fairlyfalling upon Norman of Torn in their anxiety to get their swords into him;but once they met that master hand, they went more slowly, and in a moment,two of them went no more at all, and the others, with the Earl, were butcircling warily in search of a chance opening -- an opening which nevercame.

Norman of Torn stood with his back against a table in an angle of the room,and behind him stood Joan de Tany.

"Move toward the left," she whispered. "I know this old pile. When youreach the table that bears the lamp, there will be a small doorway directlybehind you. Strike the lamp out with your sword, as you feel my hand inyour left, and then I will lead you through that doorway, which you mustturn and quickly bolt after us. Do you understand ?"

He nodded.

Slowly he worked his way toward the table, the men-at-arms in the meantimekeeping up an infernal howling for help. The Earl was careful to keep outof reach of the point of De Conde's sword, and the men-at-arms were nothingloath to emulate their master's example.

Just as he reached his goal, a dozen more men burst into the room, andemboldened by this reinforcement, one of the men engaging De Conde came tooclose. As he jerked his blade from the fellow's throat, Norman of Tornfelt a firm, warm hand slipped into his from behind, and his sword swungwith a resounding blow against the lamp.

As darkness enveloped the chamber, Joan de Tany led him through the littledoor, which he immediately closed and bolted as she had instructed.

"This way," she whispered, again slipping her hand into his and, insilence, she led him through several dim chambers, and finally stoppedbefore a blank wall in a great oak-panelled room.

Here the girl felt with swift fingers the edge of the molding. More andmore rapidly she moved as the sound of hurrying footsteps resounded throughthe castle.

"What is wrong ?" asked Norman of Torn, noticing her increasingperturbation.

"Mon Dieu !" she cried. "Can I be wrong ! Surely this is the room. Oh,my friend, that I should have brought you to all this by my willfulness andvanity; and now when I might save you, my wits leave me and I forget theway."

"Do not worry about me," laughed the Devil of Torn. "Methought that it wasI who was trying to save you, and may heaven forgive me else, for surely,that be my only excuse for running away from a handful of swords. I couldnot take chances when thou wert at stake, Joan," he added more gravely.

The sound of pursuit was now quite close, in fact the reflection fromflickering torches could be seen in nearby chambers.

At last the girl, with a little cry of "stupid," seized De Conde and rushedhim to the far side of the room.

"Here it is," she whispered joyously, "here it has been all the time."Running her fingers along the molding until she found a little hiddenspring, she pushed it, and one of the great panels swung slowly in,revealing the yawning mouth of a black opening behind.

Quickly the girl entered, pulling De Conde after her, and as the panelswung quietly into place, the Earl of Buckingham with a dozen men enteredthe apartment.

"The devil take them," cried De Fulm. "Where can they have gone ? Surelywe were right behind them."

"It is passing strange, My Lord," replied one of the men. "Let us try thefloor above, and the towers; for of a surety they have not come this way."And the party retraced its steps, leaving the apartment empty.

Behind the panel, the girl stood shrinking close to De Conde, her handstill in his.

"Where now ?" he asked. "Or do we stay hidden here like frightened chicksuntil the war is over and the Baron returns to let us out of this mustyhole ?"

"Wait," she answered, "until I quiet my nerves a little. I am allunstrung." He felt her body tremble as it pressed against his.

With the spirit of protection strong within him, what wonder that his armfell about her shoulder as though to say, fear not, for I be brave andpowerful; naught can harm you while I am here.

Presently she reached her hands up to his face, made brave to do it by thesheltering darkness.

"Roger," she whispered, her tongue halting over the familiar name. "Ithought that they had killed you, and all for me, for my foolishstubbornness. Canst forgive me ?"

"Forgive ?" he asked, smiling to himself. "Forgive being given anopportunity to fight ? There be nothing to forgive, Joan, unless it bethat I should ask forgiveness for protecting thee so poorly."

"Do not say that," she commanded. "Never was such bravery or suchswordsmanship in all the world before; never such a man."

He did not answer. His mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts. The feelof her hands as they had lingered momentarily, and with a vague caress uponhis cheek, and the pressure of her body as she leaned against him sent thehot blood coursing through his veins. He was puzzled, for he had notdreamed that friendship was so sweet. That she did not shrink from hisencircling arms should have told him much, but Norman of Torn was slow torealize that a woman might look upon him with love. Nor had he a thoughtof any other sentiment toward her than that of friend and protector.

And then there came to him as in a vision another fair and beautifulface -- Bertrade de Montfort's -- and Norman of Torn was still morepuzzled; for at heart he was clean, and love of loyalty was strong withinhim. Love of women was a new thing to him, and, robbed as he had been allhis starved life of the affection and kindly fellowship, of either men orwomen, it is little to be wondered at that he was easily impressionable andresponsive to the feeling his strong personality had awakened in two ofEngland's fairest daughters.

But with the vision of that other face, there came to him a faintrealization that mayhap it was a stronger power than either friendship orfear which caused that lithe, warm body to cling so tightly to him. Thatthe responsibility for the critical stage their young acquaintance had soquickly reached was not his had never for a moment entered his head. Tohim, the fault was all his; and perhaps it was this quality of chivalrythat was the finest of the many noble characteristics of his sterlingcharacter. So his next words were typical of the man; and did Joan de Tanylove him, or did she not, she learned that night to respect and trust himas she respected and trusted few men of her acquaintance.

"My Lady," said Norman of Torn, "we have been through much, and we are aslittle children in a dark attic, and so if I have presumed upon ouracquaintance," and he lowered his arm from about her shoulder, "I ask youto forgive it for I scarce know what to do, from weakness and from the painof the blow upon my head."

Joan de Tany drew slowly away from him, and without reply, took his handand led him forward through a dark, cold corridor.

"We must go carefully now," she said at last, "for there be stairs near."

He held her hand pressed very tightly in his, tighter perhaps thanconditions required, but she let it lie there as she led him forward, veryslowly down a flight of rough stone steps.

Norman of Torn wondered if she were angry with him and then, being new atlove, he blundered.

"Joan de Tany," he said.

"Yes, Roger de Conde; what would you ?"

"You be silent, and I fear that you be angry with me. Tell me that youforgive what I have done, an it offended you. I have so few friends," headded sadly, "that I cannot afford to lose such as you."

"You will never lose the friendship of Joan de Tany," she answered. "Youhave won her respect and -- and -- " But she could not say it and so shetrailed off lamely -- "and undying gratitude."

But Norman of Torn knew the word that she would have spoken had he dared tolet her. He did not, for there was always the vision of Bertrade deMontfort before him; and now another vision arose that would effectuallyhave sealed his lips had not the other -- he saw the Outlaw of Torndangling by his neck from a wooden gibbet.

Before, he had only feared that Joan de Tany loved him, now he knew it, andwhile he marvelled that so wondrous a creature could feel love for him,again he blamed himself, and felt sorrow for them both; for he did notreturn her love nor could he imagine a love strong enough to survive theknowledge that it was possessed by the Devil of Torn.

Presently they reached the bottom of the stairway, and Joan de Tany ledhim, gropingly, across what seemed, from their echoing footsteps, a largechamber. The air was chill and dank, smelling of mold, and no ray of lightpenetrated this subterranean vault, and no sound broke the stillness.

"This be the castle's crypt," whispered Joan; "and they do say that strangehappenings occur here in the still watches of the night, and that when thecastle sleeps, the castle's dead rise from their coffins and shake theirdry bones.

"Sh ! What was that ?" as a rustling noise broke upon their ears closeupon their right; and then there came a distinct moan, and Joan de Tanyfled to the refuge of Norman of Torn's arms.

"There is nothing to fear, Joan," reassured Norman of Torn. "Dead menwield not swords, nor do they move, or moan. The wind, I think, and ratsare our only companions here."

"I am afraid," she whispered. "If you can make a light, I am sure you willfind an old lamp here in the crypt, and then will it be less fearsome. Asa child I visited this castle often, and in search of adventure, we passedthrough these corridors an hundred times, but always by day and withlights."

Norman of Torn did as she bid, and finding the lamp, lighted it. Thechamber was quite empty save for the coffins in their niches, and someeffigies in marble set at intervals about the walls.

"Not such a fearsome place after all," he said, laughing lightly.

"No place would seem fearsome now," she answered simply, "were there alight to show me that the brave face of Roger de Conde were by my side."

"Hush, child," replied the outlaw. "You know not what you say. When youknow me better, you will be sorry for your words, for Roger de Conde is notwhat you think him. So say no more of praise until we be out of this hole,and you safe in your father's halls."

The fright of the noises in the dark chamber had but served to again bringthe girl's face close to his so that he felt her hot, sweet breath upon hischeek, and thus another link was forged to bind him to her.

With the aid of the lamp, they made more rapid progress, and in a fewmoments, reached a low door at the end of the arched passageway.

"This is the doorway which opens upon the ravine below the castle. We havepassed beneath the walls and the moat. What may we do now, Roger, withouthorses ?"

"Let us get out of this place, and as far away as possible under the coverof darkness, and I doubt not I may find a way to bring you to your father'scastle," replied Norman of Torn.

Putting out the light, lest it should attract the notice of the watch uponthe castle walls, Norman of Torn pushed open the little door and steppedforth into the fresh night air.

The ravine was so overgrown with tangled vines and wildwood that, had thereever been a pathway, it was now completely obliterated; and it was withdifficulty that the man forced his way through the entangling creepers andtendrils. The girl stumbled after him and twice fell before they had takena score of steps.

"I fear I am not strong enough," she said finally. "The way is much moredifficult than I had thought."

So Norman of Torn lifted her in his strong arms, and stumbled on throughthe darkness and the shrubbery down the center of the ravine. It requiredthe better part of an hour to traverse the little distance to the roadway;and all the time her head nestled upon his shoulder and her hair brushedhis cheek. Once when she lifted her head to speak to him, he bent towardher, and in the darkness, by chance, his lips brushed hers. He felt herlittle form tremble in his arms, and a faint sigh breathed from her lips.

They were upon the highroad now, but he did not put her down. A mist wasbefore his eyes, and he could have crushed her to him and smothered thosewarm lips with his own. Slowly, his face inclined toward hers, closer andcloser his iron muscles pressed her to him, and then, clear cut anddistinct before his eyes, he saw the corpse of the Outlaw of Torn swingingby the neck from the arm of a wooden gibbet, and beside it knelt a womangowned in rich cloth of gold and many jewels. Her face was averted and herarms were outstretched toward the dangling form that swung and twisted fromthe grim, gaunt arm. Her figure was racked with choking sobs ofhorror-stricken grief. Presently she staggered to her feet and turnedaway, burying her face in her hands; but he saw her features for an instantthen -- the woman who openly and alone mourned the dead Outlaw of Torn wasBertrade de Montfort.

Slowly his arms relaxed, and gently and reverently he lowered Joan de Tanyto the ground. In that instant Norman of Torn had learned the differencebetween friendship and love, and love and passion.

The moon was shining brightly upon them, and the girl turned, wide-eyed andwondering, toward him. She had felt the wild call of love and she couldnot understand his seeming coldness now, for she had seen no vision beyonda life of happiness within those strong arms.

"Joan," he said, "I would but now have wronged thee. Forgive me. Forgetwhat has passed between us until I can come to you in my rightful colors,when the spell of the moonlight and adventure be no longer upon us, andthen," -- he paused -- "and then I shall tell you who I be and you shallsay if you still care to call me friend -- no more than that shall I ask."

He had not the heart to tell her that he loved only Bertrade de Montfort,but it had been a thousand times better had he done so.

She was about to reply when a dozen armed men sprang from the surroundingshadows, calling upon them to surrender. The moonlight falling upon theleader revealed a great giant of a fellow with an enormous, bristlingmustache -- it was Shandy.

Norman of Torn lowered his raised sword.

"It is I, Shandy," he said. "Keep a still tongue in thy head until I speakwith thee apart. Wait here, My Lady Joan; these be friends."

Drawing Shandy to one side, he learned that the faithful fellow had becomealarmed at his chief's continued absence, and had set out with a smallparty to search for him. They had come upon the riderless Sir Mortimergrazing by the roadside, and a short distance beyond, had discoveredevidences of the conflict at the cross-roads. There they had found Normanof Torn's helmet, confirming their worst fears. A peasant in a nearby huthad told them of the encounter, and had set them upon the road taken by theEarl and his prisoners.

"And here we be, My Lord," concluded the great fellow.

"How many are you ?" asked the outlaw.

"Fifty, all told, with those who lie farther back in the bushes."

"Give us horses, and let two of the men ride behind us," said the chief."And, Shandy, let not the lady know that she rides this night with theOutlaw of Torn."

"Yes, My Lord."

They were soon mounted, and clattering down the road, back toward thecastle of Richard de Tany.

Joan de Tany looked in silent wonder upon this grim force that sprang outof the shadows of the night to do the bidding of Roger de Conde, agentleman of France.

There was something familiar in the great bulk of Red Shandy; where had sheseen that mighty frame before ? And now she looked closely at the figureof Roger de Conde. Yes, somewhere else had she seen these two mentogether; but where and when ?

And then the strangeness of another incident came to her mind. Roger deConde spoke no English, and yet she had plainly heard English words uponthis man's lips as he addressed the red giant.

Norman of Torn had recovered his helmet from one of his men who had pickedit up at the crossroads, and now he rode in silence with lowered visor, aswas his custom.

There was something sinister now in his appearance, and as the moonlighttouched the hard, cruel faces of the grim and silent men who rode behindhim, a little shudder crept over the frame of Joan de Tany.

Shortly before daylight they reached the castle of Richard de Tany, and agreat shout went up from the watch as Norman of Torn cried:

"Open ! Open for My Lady Joan."

Together they rode into the courtyard, where all was bustle andexcitement. A dozen voices asked a dozen questions only to cry out stillothers without waiting for replies.

Richard de Tany with his family and Mary de Stutevill were still fullyclothed, having not lain down during the whole night. They fairly fellupon Joan and Roger de Conde in their joyous welcome and relief.

"Come, come," said the Baron, "let us go within. You must be fair famishedfor good food and drink."

"I will ride, My Lord," replied Norman of Torn. "I have a little matter ofbusiness with my friend, the Earl of Buckingham. Business which I fearwill not wait."

Joan de Tany looked on in silence. Nor did she urge him to remain, as heraised her hand to his lips in farewell. So Norman of Torn rode out of thecourtyard; and as his men fell in behind him under the first rays of thedrawing day, the daughter of De Tany watched them through the gate, and agreat light broke upon her, for what she saw was the same as she had seen afew days since when she had turned in her saddle to watch the retreatingforms of the cut-throats of Torn as they rode on after halting her father'sparty.