CHAPTER XI.
"Oh, I am very glad!" exclaimed Iola, in a tone so confiding, sojoyful, that it made Chartley's heart thrill.
There is certainly something in trust and confidence that iswonderfully winning. Even with man--fierce, bloody, all-devouringman--it is hardly possible to resist sacred confidence. The birds, thebeasts which trust us, and show their trust by cheerful familiarity,we spare and cherish. The robin hops upon the window sill, and we feedit with the crumbs from our table; and--to go from the least to thegreatest--we are told, that if we too trust in God, He will feed us,as we feed the bird.
Yes, there is something very winning in confidence; and Lord Chartley,though he could not see the fair face of Iola distinctly, thought hermore beautiful at that moment than when she had been sitting by hisside at the abbey.
"Dear lady," he said, taking her hand and speaking in a low voice, "itrejoices me that you are glad; and right glad am I too, believe me, tofind you, though I did not rightly expect it. I have seen our friendthe woodman but now, and him whom you wot of. They are safely acrossthe road; but I could not be satisfied, when I heard that you had goneback alone, without following you, to assure myself of your safety.Why did you--"
"But who is that--who is that up there?" demanded Iola, pointing withher left hand, in the direction of the spot where she had seen anotherfigure standing, but not withdrawing her right from that of the youngnobleman, and, on the contrary, creeping closer to him.
"Fear not," replied Chartley; "it is only my good slave. I stationedhim there, to warn you there was danger on that path, while I creptthrough the trees, to see you safely to the cell. Why did you turnback? Are you afraid to go through the passage alone?"
"No, no," she answered; "but, alas, the door is closed, and cannot beopened from this side."
"Unfortunate indeed!" exclaimed Lord Chartley. "What is to be donenow?--Where are you to pass the night?"
"Oh," replied Iola, in a frank cheerful tone, "I fear not now when youare with me. I will go at once to the good woodman's cottage, if youwill but kindly take care of me till I reach it. I shall be quite safethere."
"It would be indeed a pleasant task," replied her young companion;"but it is impossible, either for you or me, dear lady, to reach thecottage without danger, to which you must not be exposed. There isalready one troop of these men upon the road; and, if I judge rightlyby the trumpet I heard just now, others will soon follow. It wouldseem that they have discovered our good friend's escape, and arepursuing him hither. Besides, the woodman will not be at his dwellingfor several hours. I saw him across the road, just before the head ofthe troop came up the hill; and then, after watching for a moment, andperceiving that they sent parties forward, as if to patrol, I came onhither, fearful for you."
"You are very kind," said Iola, in a low and sweet but sad tone. "WhatI am to do now, I know not. I must pass the night in the wood, Ifancy, like the poor children that they tell of. Would that I hadbrought warmer garments; for in truth it is not warm; and, whatbetween fear and cold, I am shaking already.--What will become of me,I wonder?"
"Nay, the cold shall be soon remedied," answered the young nobleman."This furred surcoat could not serve a fairer purpose or a fairermaid, though in truth it might hold two such slight fairy forms asthis.--Nay, I insist upon it," he continued, as he wrapped the warmgarment round her: "and as for fear, dear lady, tremble not for that.I will defend you with my life, and will not part with you, till I seeyou safely back within the walls of the abbey, or at least under yourgood aunt's protection. Besides, I have strong help at need, in thestrength of my good Arab's arm. Woe be to the rover who meets the edgeof his scimitar. Nevertheless, we must find out some place of refugefor the night, if it be but a bower of green boughs, where you cansleep while I guard you as your sentinel."
"It were better to seek some more secure hiding-place," answered Iola,"where these people will not find us. There is what they call PrinceEdward's cave, I know not why; but that is on the other side of theroad."
"The woodman spoke of an old castle on the hill," said the youngnobleman. "I saw the keep too, towering up from below; but now Icannot tell which way it lies."
"Oh, I can find the way," cried Iola gladly. "I know every paththither, and almost every stone in the building. It lies on this sideof the hill too, though it is more than a mile off."
"Then let us thither if you can find the way," replied Chartley."Should we be pursued, we can play at hide and seek there, or, at theworst, make good some tower or staircase till help comes. Were I surethat there is any officer or man of repute with these bands, I shouldnot fear for you, but so fair a flower must not be trusted in the rudehands of lawless soldiery."
Iola did not, or would not, notice the last words. Indeed, it is rare,when a phrase contains several parts, that more than one is attendedto by any individual. She fixed at once upon what he had saidregarding the old castle, and answered, "Oh, we can play at hide andseek with them there, for a year, if we can but reach it safely; and Ithink I can lead you thither by a path they will never dream of; forstill, while approaching, it seems to be turning away from the objectat which it aims."
"Somewhat like woman's wit, dear lady," answered Lord Chartley,laughing, "which I must say often takes the prettiest ways imaginableto its ends, in gay meanderings round and round. But come. There is nofear of their attempting to search the wood, this night at least,though they may try to watch all the outlets. We shall pass safeenough, if we enter upon no high roads."
"No, no," answered Iola, with a little spice of vengeance. "They shallbe all crooked, narrow, and obscure, like man's policy. Here, we mustturn up here, and take up your Moor by the way."
"Lean upon my arm then," said Chartley, drawing hers through his own."You will need some support on this long journey."
"It will be like the journey of life," she answered, "where sometimeswe must tread the narrow path singly and unsupported; sometimesguiding and helping each other."
Thus saying, she walked on with him, leaning lightly on his arm, butmusing as she went. Chartley spoke a few words to Ibn Ayoub, biddinghim follow a few steps behind, and keep a watchful ear for any soundsof pursuit; and thus he and his fair companion proceeded for aboutfive minutes in silence, till at length Iola broke from her fit ofmusing, saying abruptly, "Heaven help me! What would my poor auntthink if she knew that I was wandering here alone with you, my lord?"
Lord Chartley thought he perceived in those words a certain portion ofdoubt and fear, which he could not but own was natural, but yet he wasvery anxious to remove. "I trust she would be glad," he replied, "thatyou had met with one, by a strange accident, in whom you and she canfully trust, to guard and defend you against all wrong. I think youknow that such a one is by your side."
"Oh that I do," she answered, looking up towards his face, though shecould not see it. "Do not suppose I have any fears of you, my lord;for I feel as if I had known you many a year; and, though they say weshould judge no man rashly, yet I am right sure you would neitherwrong me nor see me wronged, for any good the world could give. Myaunt, however, might be more suspicious; for she has strange notionsof the world, and I trust not true ones."
Chartley was silent for a moment or two, and then laughed gaily.
"It were easy," he replied at length, "to say as I was just going tosay--Trust me, and doubt all other men; but I had better say nothingof the kind, however, for I can neither tell you rightly why youshould suspect others, nor give you a good reason why you should trustme. Happy is it, in my case, that you have no choice. Trust me youmust, sweet girl, whether you will or not; but believe me," he added,thinking he felt a certain tendency to withdraw her arm from his,"believe me, that trust is not misplaced, and never will be. So now Iwill make no more professions. There is another blast of the trumpet;but it is farther off than before."
"It comes down the hill," answered Iola. "They have got farther onthan we have; but yet we shall beat them, I trust; for the many areever outwitted by the few, I
hear, though, good sooth, I know nothingof life, and but repeat such sage sayings as an old nurse's songs,without being sure if they be to the right tune or not.--Oh, prudery,"she continued gaily, "what would the dear nuns, and sister Bridgetespecially, say, if they could hear me thus chattering with a younglord, in a dark wood, when there is so much sad and sober earnestgoing on near?--You too, perhaps, think it strange; but I have had solittle practice in concealing what I think, that my foolishness everrushes to my lips before my slow wit can start forth to stop it."
"Nay, I think no such thing," replied Lord Chartley, "for, by myfaith, the case is much the same with me. Besides, did we not make abargain at supper time, that the casket was not to be closed, but allthe jewels of the heart were to be left unveiled?"
"True," she answered. "It was a rash promise; but like all promises, Isuppose, it must be kept; and indeed, had it not been made, I amafraid the course would have been the same; for the key of that casketwhich you talk of is seldom to be found when needed; and the lock issomewhat rusty, from being left always open.--Think not, however, Iwould act or speak thus to all men; for had you, as did the only youngman I ever saw twice before yourself, talked of my beautiful eyes ormy charming fingers--or even, like the friend who was with you, hadyou thrown out a pretty neat-turned compliment upon bright andbeautiful looks, to be picked up by any one who thought it worth thestooping for, I should have been as grave and silent as a deafcanoness, or have run away from you as fast as my feet could carry me;but you spoke of better things, though gaily, and seemed to me to knowwhat is due, from knight and gentleman, to a woman and a lady, andtherefore, my good lord, I trust you as a friend, and speak to you asa brother."
Whatever were the feelings of Lord Chartley--whether he felt inclinedto remain in the cool relationship of friend and brother, or whetherthere were not growing upon him sensations towards his fair companionof a somewhat warmer nature, he was well aware that fraternal regardis one of the very best and most serviceable trenches for attackingthe citadel of a woman's heart, and consequently he thanked Iolagracefully for her trust, and did nothing in the world to scare thetimidity of early confidence. Perhaps his was a character to win itmore quickly than that of most men; gay, cheerful, brave, apparentlythoughtless, but in reality considerate and reflective, light-heartedfrom strong corporeal health, fair fortunes, and self-reliance, aswell as from a hopeful and sanguine heart, one seemed at once to seeclear and distinct from the act to the motive, from the words to theemotions in which they originated. There was none of that mistyclouded policy, none of that obscure and twilight art, which is sureto create suspicion and place the minds of others on their guard; butall was frank, open, free; and though people might judge him to bemore rash than he really was, and heedless of consequences when he wasin reality quite the reverse, no one ever for a moment suspected halfthe deep feeling that was in his heart, or the cool though rapidreflection which went on in his mind.
We are inclined to imagine that when a man acts quickly and decidedly,even in cases where there is no need of haste, that he actsimprudently and without due consideration. We say--"he might havetaken time for thought."
But thought is a very different thing in the minds of different men.With one, it is the cart-horse which plods slowly along with its heavyload from one point of the road to another. With others, it is therace-horse, darting like an arrow shot from a bow to the object inview. The distance and the path are the same, but only they aretravelled more rapidly in the one instance than in the other.Undoubtedly the race-horse was the illustration of Chartley's mind. Itwould have foamed and fretted to be restrained to the slow progresswhich many another man preferred; and when forced to proceed tardily,in order to keep the same pace as others, like the same horse, itwould curvet and passage, showing its impatience by a thousand wildgambols.
Short specimens of conversations are enough upon all ordinaryoccasions; and therefore I will only say, that the young nobleman andhis fair companion, followed by the Arab, at the distance of eight orten yards, threaded their way through the wood paths, lightly andeasily, talking as they went. It may seem strange that they so soonlost the sense of apprehension, and could converse on other things,while dangers were round about; but it was a part of the characters ofboth, to be little and but transiently impressible by any thing likefear. Hope was ever predominant in the heart of each, and hope iscertainly a great element of courage. Danger was thought of only whileit was actually present; and imagination was fonder of pluckingflowers than looking out for thorns. True, they stopped and listenedfrom time to time, to make themselves sure that no enemies were near.True, that when Iola had to lead the way through one of those narrowpaths, where two could not go abreast, she sometimes looked back toassure herself that Chartley was near her; but when they weretogether, they generally conversed gaily, and often even laughed,although Iola felt some apprehensions for her good aunt and hercousin, which could not be altogether removed, even by Chartley'sassurances that the burning of the houses upon the green was thestrongest proof of Richard's bands not having got into the abbey.
"Besides," he said, "I am quite sure that the commanders of these men,as long as they have the troops under their own eye, would not sufferthem to commit any violence in a religious house; for the king himselfis devout, as we all know, and though he might wink at a violation ofsanctuary, for his own purpose, he would punish severely anyunnecessary injury done in effecting it."
These arguments certainly were consolatory to Iola, and left the fearswhich still lingered, only as passing shades, coming across her mindfor a moment, and soon disappearing, like those cast by light cloudsfloating over the sun in a summer's day.
Onward they walked then, amidst the branches of the wood, and alongthe paths out in the thick underwood, still covered by the brownleaves of the preceding year. The thaw which had prevailed since thenight before had penetrated even into the depths of the wood; and thegrass was covered with unfrozen drops which rendered it almost aswhite as under the hoar frost. This was peculiarly the case upon whatmay be called the first step of the hill; but the path soon began toascend, at first winding gently about upon the upland slope, and then,spreading out to a greater width, ran along under some high cliffybanks, somewhat too steep to surmount in a direct line. Here, fromtime to time, a beautiful view of the abbey, with the lower groundssurrounding it, might have been obtained, had there been daylight; andeven in the darkness of the night, aided by a faint light from thesmoking ruins of the cottages on the green, the eye could distinguishthe sombre masses of the old pile, rising above all the surroundingobjects.
"You see the abbey is safe," said Chartley, in a low tone; "and thefires are going out. I hear no sound.--Perhaps these troops arewithdrawn."
"We could soon see," said Iola, "if we turned to the westward, forthere is a little point, which commands a view of the road."
Perhaps Chartley did not very much wish to see; for, to say the truth,he had no great inclination to part with his fair companion so soon.He had made up his mind, by this time, to the not unpleasant task ofpassing the rest of the night with her in the old castle. There was aspirit of adventure in it--a touch of that romance which is agreeableto almost every young man's mind. Nevertheless, he thought it moreproper to follow the suggestion, although the result might be toconvey her back to the abbey, and send him onward on his way toHinckley. They turned then in the direction she indicated, and, at thedistance of about a hundred and fifty yards, came to a spot where asmall stream welled from the high bank, and the waters were gathered,before they crossed the road, into a small clear pool; a beautifulobject and beautifully situated. The rugged cliff from which thespring flowed, like a parent looking into a child's eyes, bent overthe fountain, and caught the image of itself. The stars were mirroredin it; and a light birch that grew beside it bent its head down todrink.
"I will sit here," said Iola, "upon this stone, where I have often satbefore, if you will run up the bank by that little path, which willlead you to a spot where a gre
ater part of the road can be seen. Stopwhere the path stops; and do not be long, for I shall be frightened. Ido not know whether you can see anything upon the road in this darknight; but the sand is light of colour, so as to show anything darkmoving upon it, I think."
"I will leave the Arab with you," said Chartley. "You can trust himfully. Stay with the lady, Ibn Ayoub," he continued, "and guard her asyou would the prophet's tomb."
The man folded his arms upon his breast, and remained precisely in thesame attitude, at the distance of three or four paces, while his lordran lightly up the path; and Iola, seating herself by the fountain,gazed down upon the limpid water, from which a dim shadowy form lookedup at her again. What were her thoughts then? Perhaps, she toocontemplated the result of all obstacles to her return to the abbeybeing removed, the consequent parting with her young and kindcompanion, and the probability of her never meeting with him again. Itwas not without a feeling of regret. She almost wished that she hadnot proposed to Chartley to see whether the troops were still there ornot; and then she was angry with herself for entertaining suchfeelings. Then she meditated upon the passing the night with him inthe ruins; and certainly she did not regard such a thing in the sameway that he did. She felt a little alarmed, of she knew not what, ahesitation, a doubt. It would feel very strange, she thought--almostwrong. While there had seemed no other choice, such feelings had neverpresented themselves, but now they were strong. It would be verypleasant, she could not deny, to have his society for some timelonger--with friends and companions about them; but alone, in a remoteplace, with the world's eye afar--that eye which acts as a bond but asafeguard, a restraint but a justification--the matter was verydifferent. Yet--strange human nature!--when, a moment after, she hearda blast of a trumpet coming from the road, and a loud voice shoutingforth some orders, it was a relief to her. Perhaps she feared theparting with Chartley so soon, even more than passing of a night withhim in the old castle. Dear girl, she could not help it. It was nofault of hers. Nature taught her to cling to that which had protectedher. Nature taught her to love that which came upon her hitherto dullexistence like the first gleam of summer's returning sunshine into thewintry sky.
A moment after, Chartley's step was heard returning; and, running downthe bank, he said:
"They are upon the road still, and moreover, preparing to surround thewood by patrols, probably with the intention of searching itthoroughly to-morrow. Let us on, sweet Iola, and seek our place ofrefuge, for we have no choice left; and they may perchance push someof their parties along these broader paths to-night. I should not liketo come into collision with them, if I can help it. Here, let me stayyour steps;" and once more he drew her arm through his.
"I had hoped," answered Iola--little hypocrite--"that they were allgone, and that you might be spared farther trouble on my accountto-night."
"Trouble!" said Chartley; and he laughed. "I know not what you feel,dear lady; but I cannot, for my life, think all this night's adventureso very disastrous. I grieve, of course, that you should be alarmed orpained in any way; but yet a few hours of such sweet society, thepower of protecting, assisting, supporting you, the linking offeelings, and sympathies, and associations with yours, even for soshort a space, has something very pleasant in it. Whatever may be ourfate hereafter, Lady Iola, we shall both remember this night, as oneof those high points of time, which raise their heads out of the oceanof the past, and glitter afar in the light of memory."
"I must tell him about myself and my fate," thought Iola; but Chartleypursued the subject no farther; and turning back upon their steps,they renewed their ascent towards the castle, winding along amongstthe trees, which were there farther apart and less encumbered byunderwood.
How rapidly the wild encroaches upon the cultivated, when the hand ofman is once withdrawn. In former years--not very long before,certainly not a century--the detached elevation in the wood, on whichthe castle stood, had been covered with smooth clean-shaven greenturf, without tree or shrub, which could cover an approaching enemyfrom the shafts of the garrison. It had its road winding round it fromthe principal gate, and passing, till it approached the edge of theneighbouring forest, within bow shot of some loop-hole or battlement,at every turn. Now the trees had grown over the whole mount, as thickand close as anywhere in the wood--over road and all; and nothing buta pathway remained, where bands of retainers had formerly ridden upand down on horseback. The self-sown oaks, indeed, were small andthin; but there were some enormous ash trees, and large fine elms andbeeches, which no one would have supposed of so late a growth. A greatnumber of birches--"the ladies of the wood,"--mingled their slightsilvery stems with the sturdier and more lordly forest trees, and thewinged seeds of the ash, wafted to the walls, had planted themselveshere and there, wherever a fallen stone had left a vacant space in themortar, and had shot up into feathery shrubs, fringing the ancientbattlements and cresting the tall tower. Thus, in the early summertime, when leaves are green, the castle at a distance could hardly bedistinguished from the forest.
Up the small path I have mentioned, Iola and Chartley took their way,and at length stood under the old arch of the barbican. One of thetowers which had flanked it had fallen down, and, filling up thefosse, afforded a firmer path than the drawbridge, which, partlybroken down, I know not whether by age or war, offered but an insecurefooting. One of the long beams indeed, and two or three of the planks,still hung by the heavy chain used formerly to raise the bridge; butIola hesitated, although she had often crossed before, fearing, in thedarkness, to lose her footing on the bridge, or to stumble amongst thestones, if she chose the path over the fallen tower. Chartleyinstantly divined her doubt, and going on part of the way over thedrawbridge, held out his hand, saying: "Let me steady your steps. Itis quite firm."
Iola followed at once; and the Arab came after; but when they reachedthe great gate, the lady again paused, saying, "It is so dark, I fearwe shall never find our way about the building, without the risk ofsome accident, for many of the steps are broken down, and fragments ofthe walls encumber the doorways, although some of the rooms in thekeep are almost as if they had been just inhabited. I wonder how longit is to daybreak."
"I have not heard the bell for lauds," replied Chartley, "andtherefore, probably, three or four hours may elapse before we see theface of day. Perhaps, however, we can contrive to light a firesomewhere in the court, for the high trees and walls would screen itfrom the eyes of the men upon the road."
"Let us find our way into the great court first," said Iola. "There isplenty of dry wood about the place, if we could but find a light."
"That will be soon obtained," answered Lord Chartley, "and, perhaps,something that may serve the purpose of a torch or candle also;" and,speaking a few words to the Arab, which Iola did not understand, heled the way forward, stretching out his hands, like a blind man, tomake sure of the path he trod; for, if the night was dark without, thedarkness was doubly deep under the shadow of the arch. After passingthrough the gateway, the great court seemed light enough bycomparison. In the centre rose the large keep or donjon tower,frowning heavily over the scene below; and forth from the side of thekeep came a pile of very ancient buildings, now silent and desolatelike the rest.
Chartley and Iola are now alone; for the Arab had left them. But yetshe did not and she would not fear, for she had great confidence inher companion, and woman's confidence is of a very capacious measure.Nor did he wrong it--shame upon him who does--but, guiding her quietlyto the flight of steps leading into the keep, he made her sit downupon the dilapidated stairs, and stood beside her, talking aboutsubjects which could awake no emotion, or a very slight one, and,informing her that he had sent the slave to seek for materials tolight a fire. None of those events, however, occurred, whichcontinually happen to people cast upon a desert island. There werenone of those appliances or means at hand, with which wanderingsailors are usually supplied accidentally. No bituminous pine wasfound to fulfil the office of a torch; and at length after the Arab'sreturn, the only resource
of the fugitives was to light a fire, afterthe most ancient and approved fashion, by a flint and steel. This,however, was accomplished with less difficulty than might have beenexpected, the young lord's dagger supplying the steel, and flintsbeing numerous in the neighbourhood. The old brown leaves, and theyoung but well-dried shoots, soon caught the flame; and in a fewminutes the joyous light was spreading round the old court yard, andraising Iola's spirits by the very look.
"Ah, now we can rest here in comfort," said, the young lady gazingaround her; "but the light is not yet sufficient to see the inside ofthe hall."
"But still you cannot sleep here, sweet Iola," answered her companion."I and the slave will go in and light a fire in the hall, if you willtend this in the meanwhile."
"Nay," she answered, "I want not to sleep;" and she detained himgently by the arm. "Let us sit down here. See here is a stone benchbowered in the ivy. We can pass the night in telling tales; and firstyou shall inform me how you came hither on foot in the forest, when Ithought you had gone away for Leicester."
Lord Chartley easily satisfied her on that point; and seated on thestone bench by her side, as near as possible, gazing from time to timeon her bright countenance, by the gleams of the firelight, he relatedto her all that had occurred to him since he had left the abbey.
"As to my being on foot," he said, "your good friend the woodmanjudged it best that I and my Arab should leave our horses at his hut,for fear of attracting attention. All I hope is, that they will not befound there by these good gentlemen, who are watching the wood; for itmight be dangerous if they were recognised as my property."
"There is a great risk indeed," said Iola anxiously. "What will you doif such should be the case?"
"As best I can," answered Chartley. "I never premeditate, dear lady;for I always remark that those who go lightly and carelessly throughthe world go the farthest. The circumstances of the moment determinemy conduct; and as I have no ties to bind me but those of honour andtruth, no ambitious schemes to be frustrated or executed, no deedsdone that I am ashamed of, so I have never any great store of fearsfor the future, nor much need of forming plans at any time for afteraction."
"Happy are those," answered Iola, with a sigh, "who, as you say, haveno ties to bind them."
Her reply was a natural one, springing at once from what was passingin her own heart. Something had whispered that it would be better totell her companion, that her own fate was linked to another, that shehad been contracted in fact in infancy, by her relations, to a personof whom she knew nothing. The thought of informing him of her fate,however, led her to think of that fate itself; and thence came thesigh and the answer that she made. But as soon as it was uttered, shefelt that it rendered more difficult, nay impossible, the task oftelling the circumstances as she had meditated. The words she had justspoken, the sigh she had just breathed, expressed too clearly theregret that she really felt; but to explain to him the source of thatregret, to show him the nature of the tie that oppressed her, would,she thought, be unwomanly and indecent.
Her words, however, had not been unmarked; and Chartley, reading themwrongly, pressed her gaily for explanation.
"Nay," he said, "you have no ties to regret. Your good aunt, theabbess, told me herself, that you are not destined for the life of theconvent. If you do take the veil, it must be from some fanciedresolution of your own heart, against which it is the duty of everyknight and gentleman to war. Fie, fie! Let those who have tasted theworld and found it bitter; let those to whom it has pleased Heaven todeny beauty, and grace, and mind, and kindly feeling; let those whohave sorrows to mourn, or evil acts to repent, seek the shades of theconvent; but do not bury there charms of person, and mind, and heart,such as yours, intended by Heaven to be the blessing and the hope andthe comfort of another. I must not, I will not have it."
He spoke so eagerly, so warmly, and his eyes looked so bright, thatIola felt glad the Arab was standing near piling fresh wood upon thefire. She knew not how to answer; but at length she said, "I am notdestined for a convent; but there may be other ties as binding as thevow to the veil."
"You are not married," exclaimed Chartley, starting; and then headded, with a laugh--a gladsome laugh, "No, no. You told me yourselfthat you had only seen one other young man twice in life besidesmyself."
"No, not married--" answered Iola, casting down her eyes, and speakingin a low and sad tone. But her farther reply was interrupted; for theArab suddenly lifted his finger with a warning gesture, and said in alow voice:
"Steps come."
"Let us into the old hall," said Chartley, rising, and taking aburning brand from the fire. "This will give us some light at least.Ibn Ayoub, stay you in the archway till I return. I will comedirectly; but let no one pass."
The Arab drew a long sharp pointed knife from his girdle, saying; "Iwill take care;" and the young lord and Iola hurried, through thegateway of the keep, into the interior of the building.