Both horses and men were fairly exhausted from the gruelling strain of manydays of marching and fighting, so Norman of Torn went into camp that night;nor did he again take up his march until the second morning, three daysafter the battle of Lewes.

He bent his direction toward the north and Leicester's castle, where he hadreason to believe he would find a certain young woman, and though it galledhis sore heart to think upon the humiliation that lay waiting his coming,he could not do less than that which he felt his honor demanded.

Beside him on the march rode the fierce red giant, Shandy, and the wiry,gray little man of Torn, whom the outlaw called father.

In no way, save the gray hair and the parchment-surfaced skin, had the oldfellow changed in all these years. Without bodily vices, and clinging everto the open air and the exercise of the foil, he was still young in muscleand endurance.

For five years, he had not crossed foils with Norman of Torn, but heconstantly practiced with the best swordsmen of the wild horde, so that ithad become a subject often discussed among the men as to which of the two,father or son, was the greater swordsman.

Always taciturn, the old fellow rode in his usual silence. Long since hadNorman of Torn usurped by the force of his strong character and masterfulways, the position of authority in the castle of Torn. The old man simplyrode and fought with the others when it pleased him; and he had come onthis trip because he felt that there was that impending for which he hadwaited over twenty years.

Cold and hard, he looked with no love upon the man he still called "myson." If he held any sentiment toward Norman of Torn, it was one of pridewhich began and ended in the almost fiendish skill of his pupil's mightysword arm.

The little army had been marching for some hours when the advance guardhalted a party bound south upon a crossroad. There were some twenty orthirty men, mostly servants, and a half dozen richly garbed knights.

As Norman of Torn drew rein beside them, he saw that the leader of theparty was a very handsome man of about his own age, and evidently a personof distinction; a profitable prize, thought the outlaw.

"Who are you," said the gentleman, in French, "that stops a prince ofFrance upon the highroad as though he were an escaped criminal ? Are youof the King's forces, or De Montfort's ?"

"Be this Prince Philip of France ?" asked Norman of Torn.

"Yes, but who be you ?"

"And be you riding to meet my Lady Bertrade de Montfort ?" continued theoutlaw, ignoring the Prince's question.

"Yes, an it be any of your affair," replied Philip curtly.

"It be," said the Devil of Torn, "for I be a friend of My Lady Bertrade,and as the way be beset with dangers from disorganized bands of rovingsoldiery, it is unsafe for Monsieur le Prince to venture on with so smallan escort. Therefore will the friend of Lady Bertrade de Montfort ridewith Monsieur le Prince to his destination that Monsieur may arrive theresafely."

"It is kind of you, Sir Knight, a kindness that I will not forget. But,again, who is it that shows this solicitude for Philip of France ?"

"Norman of Torn, they call me," replied the outlaw.

"Indeed !" cried Philip. "The great and bloody outlaw ?" Upon his handsomeface there was no look of fear or repugnance.

Norman of Torn laughed.

"Monsieur le Prince thinks, mayhap, that he will make a bad name forhimself," he said, "if he rides in such company ?"

"My Lady Bertrade and her mother think you be less devil than saint," saidthe Prince. "They have told me of how you saved the daughter of DeMontfort, and, ever since, I have been of a great desire to meet you, andto thank you. It had been my intention to ride to Torn for that purpose sosoon as we reached Leicester, but the Earl changed all our plans by hisvictory and only yesterday, on his orders, the Princess Eleanor, his wife,with the Lady Bertrade, rode to Battel, where Simon de Montfort and theKing are to be today. The Queen also is there with her retinue, so it beexpected that, to show the good feeling and renewed friendship existingbetween De Montfort and his King, there will be gay scenes in the oldfortress. But," he added, after a pause, "dare the Outlaw of Torn ridewithin reach of the King who has placed a price upon his head ?"

"The price has been there since I was eighteen," answered Norman of Torn,"and yet my head be where it has always been. Can you blame me if I lookwith levity upon the King's price ? It be not heavy enough to weigh medown; nor never has it held me from going where I listed in all England. Iam freer than the King, My Lord, for the King be a prisoner today."

Together they rode toward Battel, and as they talked, Norman of Torn grewto like this brave and handsome gentleman. In his heart was no rancorbecause of the coming marriage of the man to the woman he loved.

If Bertrade de Montfort loved this handsome French prince, then Norman ofTorn was his friend; for his love was a great love, above jealousy. It notonly held her happiness above his own, but the happiness and welfare of theman she loved, as well.

It was dusk when they reached Battel and as Norman of Torn bid the princeadieu, for the horde was to make camp just without the city, he said:

"May I ask My Lord to carry a message to Lady Bertrade ? It is inreference to a promise I made her two years since and which I now, for thefirst time, be able to fulfill."

"Certainly, my friend," replied Philip. The outlaw, dismounting, calledupon one of his squires for parchment, and, by the light of a torch, wrotea message to Bertrade de Montfort.

Half an hour later, a servant in the castle of Battel handed the missive tothe daughter of Leicester as she sat alone in her apartment. Opening it,she read:

To Lady Bertrade de Montfort, from her friend, Norman of Torn.

Two years have passed since you took the hand of the Outlaw of Torn infriendship, and now he comes to sue for another favor.

It is that he may have speech with you, alone, in the castle of Battel thisnight.

Though the name Norman of Torn be fraught with terror to others, I knowthat you do not fear him, for you must know the loyalty and friendshipwhich he bears you.

My camp lies without the city's gates, and your messenger will have safeconduct whatever reply he bears to,

Norman of Torn.

Fear ? Fear Norman of Torn ? The girl smiled as she thought of thatmoment of terrible terror two years ago when she learned, in the castle ofPeter of Colfax, that she was alone with, and in the power of, the Devil ofTorn. And then she recalled his little acts of thoughtful chivalry, nay,almost tenderness, on the long night ride to Leicester.

What a strange contradiction of a man ! She wondered if he would come withlowered visor, for she was still curious to see the face that lay behindthe cold, steel mask. She would ask him this night to let her see hisface, or would that be cruel ? For, did they not say that it was from thevery ugliness of it that he kept his helm closed to hide the repulsivesight from the eyes of men !

As her thoughts wandered back to her brief meeting with him two yearsbefore, she wrote and dispatched her reply to Norman of Torn.

In the great hall that night as the King's party sat at supper, Philip ofFrance, addressing Henry, said:

"And who thinkest thou, My Lord King, rode by my side to Battel today, thatI might not be set upon by knaves upon the highway ?"

"Some of our good friends from Kent ?" asked the King.

"Nay, it was a man upon whose head Your Majesty has placed a price, Normanof Torn; and if all of your English highwaymen be as courteous and pleasantgentlemen as he, I shall ride always alone and unarmed through your realmthat I may add to my list of pleasant acquaintances."

"The Devil of Torn ?" asked Henry, incredulously. "Some one be hoaxingyou."

"Nay, Your Majesty, I think not," replied Philip, "for he was indeed a grimand mighty man, and at his back rode as ferocious and awe-inspiring a packas ever I beheld outside a prison; fully a thousand strong they rode. Theybe camped not far without the city now."

"My Lord," said Henry, turning to Simon de Montfort, "be it not time thatEngland were rid of this devil's spawn and his hellish brood ? Though Ipresume," he added, a sarcastic sneer upon his lip, "that it may proveembarrassing for My Lord Earl of Leicester to turn upon his companion inarms."

"I owe him nothing," returned the Earl haughtily, "by his own word."

"You owe him victory at Lewes," snapped the King. "It were indeed a sadcommentary upon the sincerity of our loyalty-professing lieges who turnedtheir arms against our royal person, 'to save him from the treachery of hisfalse advisers,' that they called upon a cutthroat outlaw with a price uponhis head to aid them in their 'righteous cause'."

"My Lord King," cried De Montfort, flushing with anger, "I called not uponthis fellow, nor did I know he was within two hundred miles of Lewes untilI saw him ride into the midst of the conflict that day. Neither did Iknow, until I heard his battle cry, whether he would fall upon baron orroyalist."

"If that be the truth, Leicester," said the King, with a note of skepticismwhich he made studiously apparent, "hang the dog. He be just without thecity even now."

"You be King of England, My Lord Henry. If you say that he shall behanged, hanged he shall be," replied De Montfort.

"A dozen courts have already passed sentence upon him, it only remains tocatch him, Leicester," said the King.

"A party shall sally forth at dawn to do the work," replied De Montfort.

"And not," thought Philip of France, "if I know it, shall the brave Outlawof Torn be hanged tomorrow."

In his camp without the city of Battel, Norman of Torn paced back and forthwaiting an answer to his message.

Sentries patrolled the entire circumference of the bivouac, for the outlawknew full well that he had put his head within the lion's jaw when he hadridden thus boldly to the seat of English power. He had no faith in thegratitude of De Montfort, and he knew full well what the King would urgewhen he learned that the man who had sent his soldiers naked back toLondon, who had forced his messenger to eat the King's message, and who hadturned his victory to defeat at Lewes, was within reach of the army of DeMontfort.

Norman of Torn loved to fight, but he was no fool, and so he did not relishpitting his thousand upon an open plain against twenty thousand within awalled fortress.

No, he would see Bertrade de Montfort that night and before dawn his roughband would be far on the road toward Torn. The risk was great to enter thecastle, filled as it was with his mighty enemies. But if he died there, itwould be in a good cause, thought he and, anyway, he had set himself to dothis duty which he dreaded so, and do it he would were all the armies ofthe world camped within Battel.

Directly he heard a low challenge from one of his sentries, who presentlyappeared escorting a lackey.

"A messenger from Lady Bertrade de Montfort," said the soldier.

"Bring him hither," commanded the outlaw.

The lackey approached and handed Norman of Torn a dainty parchment sealedwith scented wax wafers.

"Did My Lady say you were to wait for an answer ?" asked the outlaw.

"I am to wait, My Lord," replied the awestruck fellow, to whom the servicehad been much the same had his mistress ordered him to Hell to bear amessage to the Devil.

Norman of Torn turned to a flickering torch and, breaking the seals, readthe message from the woman he loved. It was short and simple.

To Norman of Torn, from his friend always, Bertrade de Montfort.

Come with Giles. He has my instructions to lead thee secretly to where Ibe.

Bertrade de Montfort.

Norman of Torn turned to where one of his captains squatted upon the groundbeside an object covered with a cloth.

"Come, Flory," he said, and then, turning to the waiting Giles, "lead on."

They fell in single file: first the lackey, Giles, then Norman of Torn andlast the fellow whom he had addressed as Flory bearing the object coveredwith a cloth. But it was not Flory who brought up the rear. Flory laydead in the shadow of a great oak within the camp; a thin wound below hisleft shoulder blade marked the spot where a keen dagger had found its wayto his heart, and in his place walked the little grim, gray, old man,bearing the object covered with a cloth. But none might know thedifference, for the little man wore the armor of Flory, and his visor wasdrawn.

And so they came to a small gate which let into the castle wall where theshadow of a great tower made the blackness of a black night doubly black.Through many dim corridors, the lackey led them, and up winding stairwaysuntil presently he stopped before a low door.

"Here," he said, "My Lord," and turning left them.

Norman of Torn touched the panel with the mailed knuckles of his righthand, and a low voice from within whispered, "Enter."

Silently, he strode into the apartment, a small antechamber off a largehall. At one end was an open hearth upon which logs were burning brightly,while a single lamp aided in diffusing a soft glow about the austerechamber. In the center of the room was a table, and at the sides severalbenches.

Before the fire stood Bertrade de Montfort, and she was alone.

"Place your burden upon this table, Flory," said Norman of Torn. And whenit had been done: "You may go. Return to camp."

He did not address Bertrade de Montfort until the door had closed behindthe little grim, gray man who wore the armor of the dead Flory and thenNorman of Torn advanced to the table and stood with his left handungauntleted, resting upon the table's edge.

"My Lady Bertrade," he said at last, "I have come to fulfill a promise."

He spoke in French, and she started slightly at his voice. Before, Normanof Torn had always spoken in English. Where had she heard that voice !There were tones in it that haunted her.

"What promise did Norman of Torn e'er make to Bertrade de Montfort ?" sheasked. "I do not understand you, my friend."

"Look," he said. And as she approached the table he withdrew the clothwhich covered the object that the man had placed there.

The girl started back with a little cry of terror, for there upon a goldenplatter was a man's head; horrid with the grin of death baring yellowfangs.

"Dost recognize the thing ?" asked the outlaw. And then she did; but stillshe could not comprehend. At last, slowly, there came back to her theidle, jesting promise of Roger de Conde to fetch the head of her enemy tothe feet of his princess, upon a golden dish.

But what had the Outlaw of Torn to do with that ! It was all a sore puzzleto her, and then she saw the bared left hand of the grim, visored figure ofthe Devil of Torn, where it rested upon the table beside the grisly head ofPeter of Colfax; and upon the third finger was the great ring she hadtossed to Roger de Conde on that day, two years before.

What strange freak was her brain playing her ! It could not be, no it wasimpossible; then her glance fell again upon the head grinning there uponthe platter of gold, and upon the forehead of it she saw, in letters ofdried blood, that awful symbol of sudden death - NT !

Slowly her eyes returned to the ring upon the outlaw's hand, and then up tohis visored helm. A step she took toward him, one hand upon her breast,the other stretched pointing toward his face, and she swayed slightly asmight one who has just arisen from a great illness.

"Your visor," she whispered, "raise your visor." And then, as though toherself: "It cannot be; it cannot be."

Norman of Torn, though it tore the heart from him, did as she bid, andthere before her she saw the brave strong face of Roger de Conde.

"Mon Dieu !" she cried, "Tell me it is but a cruel joke."

"It be the cruel truth, My Lady Bertrade," said Norman of Torn sadly. And,then, as she turned away from him, burying her face in her raised arms, hecame to her side, and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, said sadly:

"And now you see, My Lady, why I did not follow you to France. My heartwent there with you, but I knew that naught but sorrow and humiliationcould come to one whom the Devil of Torn loved, if that love was returned;and so I waited until you might forget the words you had spoken to Roger deConde before I came to fulfill the promise that you should know him in histrue colors.

"It is because I love you, Bertrade, that I have come this night. Godknows that it be no pleasant thing to see the loathing in your veryattitude, and to read the hate and revulsion that surges through yourheart, or to guess the hard, cold thoughts which fill your mind against mebecause I allowed you to speak the words you once spoke, and to the Devilof Torn.

"I make no excuse for my weakness. I ask no forgiveness for what I knowyou never can forgive. That, when you think of me, it will always be withloathing and contempt is the best that I can hope.

"I only know that I love you, Bertrade; I only know that I love you, andwith a love that surpasseth even my own understanding.

"Here is the ring that you gave in token of friendship. Take it. The handthat wore it has done no wrong by the light that has been given it asguide.

"The blood that has pulsed through the finger that it circled came from aheart that beat for Bertrade de Montfort; a heart that shall continue tobeat for her alone until a merciful providence sees fit to gather in awasted and useless life.

"Farewell, Bertrade." Kneeling he raised the hem of her garment to hislips.

A thousand conflicting emotions surged through the heart of this prouddaughter of the new conqueror of England. The anger of an outragedconfidence, gratitude for the chivalry which twice had saved her honor,hatred for the murderer of a hundred friends and kinsmen, respect and honorfor the marvellous courage of the man, loathing and contempt for the baseborn, the memory of that exalted moment when those handsome lips had clungto hers, pride in the fearlessness of a champion who dared come alone amongtwenty thousand enemies for the sake of a promise made her; but strongerthan all the rest, two stood out before her mind's eye like livingthings -- the degradation of his low birth, and the memory of the greatlove she had cherished all these long and dreary months.

And these two fought out their battle in the girl's breast. In those fewbrief moments of bewilderment and indecision, it seemed to Bertrade deMontfort that ten years passed above her head, and when she reached herfinal resolution she was no longer a young girl but a grown woman who, withthe weight of a mature deliberation, had chosen the path which she wouldtravel to the end -- to the final goal, however sweet or however bitter.

Slowly she turned toward him who knelt with bowed head at her feet, and,taking the hand that held the ring outstretched toward her, raised him tohis feet. In silence she replaced the golden band upon his finger, andthen she lifted her eyes to his.

"Keep the ring, Norman of Torn," she said. "The friendship of Bertrade deMontfort is not lightly given nor lightly taken away," she hesitated, "noris her love."

"What do you mean ?" he whispered. For in her eyes was that wondrous lighthe had seen there on that other day in the far castle of Leicester.

"I mean," she answered, "that, Roger de Conde or Norman of Torn, gentlemanor highwayman, it be all the same to Bertrade de Montfort -- it be thee Ilove; thee !"

Had she reviled him, spat upon him, he would not have been surprised, forhe had expected the worst; but that she should love him ! Oh God, had hisoverwrought nerves turned his poor head ? Was he dreaming this thing, onlyto awaken to the cold and awful truth !

But these warm arms about his neck, the sweet perfume of the breath thatfanned his cheek; these were no dream !

"Think thee what thou art saying, Bertrade ?" he cried. "Dost forget thatI be a low-born knave, knowing not my own mother and questioning even theidentity of my father ? Could a De Montfort face the world with such a manfor husband ?"

"I know what I say, perfectly," she answered. "Were thou born out ofwedlock, the son of a hostler and a scullery maid, still would I love thee,and honor thee, and cleave to thee. Where thou be, Norman of Torn, thereshall be happiness for me. Thy friends shall be my friends; thy joys shallbe my joys; thy sorrows, my sorrows; and thy enemies, even mine own father,shall be my enemies.

"Why it is, my Norman, I know not. Only do I know that I didst oftenquestion my own self if in truth I did really love Roger de Conde, butthee -- oh Norman, why is it that there be no shred of doubt now, that thisheart, this soul, this body be all and always for the Outlaw of Torn ?"

"I do not know," he said simply and gravely. "So wonderful a thing bebeyond my poor brain; but I think my heart knows, for in very joy, it issending the hot blood racing and surging through my being till I were liketo be consumed for the very heat of my happiness."

"Sh !" she whispered, suddenly, "methinks I hear footsteps. They must notfind thee here, Norman of Torn, for the King has only this night wrung apromise from my father to take thee in the morning and hang thee. Whatshall we do, Norman ? Where shall we meet again ?"

"We shall not be separated, Bertrade; only so long as it may take thee togather a few trinkets, and fetch thy riding cloak. Thou ridest northtonight with Norman of Torn, and by the third day, Father Claude shall makeus one."

"I am glad thee wish it," she replied. "I feared that, for some reason,thee might not think it best for me to go with thee now. Wait here, I willbe gone but a moment. If the footsteps I hear approach this door," and sheindicated the door by which he had entered the little room, "thou canststep through this other doorway into the adjoining apartment, and concealthyself there until the danger passes."

Norman of Torn made a wry face, for he had no stomach for hiding himselfaway from danger.

"For my sake," she pleaded. So he promised to do as she bid, and she ranswiftly from the room to fetch her belongings.