CHAPTER XXX. HOW THE BRUSHWOOD MEN CAME TO THE CHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE.

shelterofthebrushwood.Nine-and-seventyAlleynecountedofthesedarkfiguresflittingacrossthelineofthemoonlight.Manyborehugeburdensupontheirbacks,thoughwhatitwasthattheycarriedhecouldnottellatthedistance.Outoftheonewoodandintotheothertheypassed,allwiththesamecrouching,furtivegait,untiltheblackbristleoftreeshadswallowedupthelastofthem. ForamomentAlleynestoodinthewindow,stillstaringdownatthesilentforest,uncertainastowhatheshouldthinkofthesemidnightwalkers.Thenhebethoughthimthattherewasonebesidehimwhowasfittertojudgeonsuchamatter.HisfingershadscarceresteduponAylward'sshouldererethebowmanwasonhisfeet,withhishandoutstretchedtohissword. “Quiva?”hecried.“Hola!monpetit.Bymyhilt!Ithoughttherehadbeenacamisade.Whatthen,mongar.?” “Comehitherbythewindow,Aylward,”saidAlleyne.“Ihaveseenfour-scoremenpassfromyondershawacrosstheglade,andnigheverymanofthemhadagreatburdenonhisback.Whatthinkyouofit?” “Ithinknothingofit,moncamarade!ThereareasmanymasterlessfolkinthiscountryastherearerabbitsonCowdrayDown,andtherearemanywhoshowtheirfacesbynightbutwoulddanceinahempencollariftheystirredforthintheday.OnalltheFrenchmarchesaredrovesofoutcasts,reivers,spoilers,anddraw-latches,ofwhomIjudgethatthesearesome,thoughImarvelthattheyshoulddaretocomesonightothecastleoftheseneschal.Allseemsveryquietnow,”headded,peeringoutofthewindow. “Theyareinthefurtherwood,”saidAlleyne. “Andtheretheymaybide.Backtorest,monpetitfor,bymyhilt!eachdaynowwillbringitsownwork.Yetitwouldbewelltoshoottheboltinyonderdoorwhenoneisinstrangequarters.So!”Hethrewhimselfdownuponhispalletandinaninstantwasfastasleep. Itmighthavebeenaboutthreeo'clockinthemorningwhenAlleynewasarousedfromatroubledsleepbyalowcryorexclamation.Helistened,but,asheheardnomore,hesetitdownasthechallengeoftheguarduponthewalls,anddroppedofftosleeponcemore.Afewminuteslaterhewasdisturbedbyagentlecreakingofhisowndoor,asthoughsomeonewerepushingcautiouslyagainstit,andimmediatelyafterwardsheheardthesoftthudofcautiousfootstepsuponthestairwhichledtotheroomabove,followedbyaconfusednoiseandamuffledgroan.Alleynesatuponhiscouchwithallhisnervesinatingle,uncertainwhetherthesesoundsmightcomefromasimplecause—somesickarcherandvisitingleechperhaps—orwhethertheymighthaveamoresinistermeaning.Butwhatdangercouldthreatenthemhereinthisstrongcastle,underthecareoffamouswarriors,withhighwallsandabroadmoataroundthem?Whowastherethatcouldinjurethem?Hehadwell-nighpersuadedhimselfthathisfearswereafoolishfancy,whenhiseyesfelluponthatwhichsentthebloodcoldtohisheartandlefthimgasping,withhandsclutchingatthecounterpane. Rightinfrontofhimwasthebroadwindowofthechamber,withthemoonshiningbrightlythroughit.Foraninstantsomethinghadobscuredthelight,andnowaheadwasbobbingupanddownoutside,thefacelookinginathim,andswingingslowlyfromonesideofthewindowtotheother.Eveninthatdimlighttherecouldbenomistakingthosefeatures.Drawn,distortedandblood-stained,theywerestillthoseoftheyoungfellow-squirewhohadsa