to whisper the name with grim, set lips.

"Norman of Torn !" she whispered. "May God have mercy on my soul !"

Beneath the visored helm, a wave of pain and sorrow surged across the

countenance of the outlaw, and a little shudder, as of a chill of

hopelessness, shook his giant frame.

"You need not fear, My Lady," he said sadly. "You shall be in your

father's castle of Leicester ere the sun marks noon. And you will be safer

under the protection of the hated Devil of Torn than with your own mighty

father, or your royal uncle."

"It is said that you never lie, Norman of Torn," spoke the girl, "and I

believe you, but tell me why you thus befriend a De Montfort."

"It is not for love of your father or your brothers, nor yet hatred of

Peter of Colfax, nor neither for any reward whatsoever. It pleases me to

do as I do, that is all. Come."

He led her in silence to the courtyard and across the lowered drawbridge,

to where they soon discovered a group of horsemen, and in answer to a low

challenge from Shandy, Norman of Torn replied that it was he.

"Take a dozen men, Shandy, and search yon hellhole. Bring out to me,

alive, Peter of Colfax, and My Lady's cloak and a palfrey -- and Shandy,

when all is done as I say, you may apply the torch ! But no looting,

Shandy."

Shandy looked in surprise upon his leader, for the torch had never been a

weapon of Norman of Torn, while loot, if not always the prime object of his

many raids, was at least a very important consideration.

The outlaw noticed the surprised hesitation of his faithful subaltern and

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