When Ralph pushed aside the heavy curtain which hung inside the ill-fitting but massive oak door, he was for a moment dazed by the brilliant light within the room.

The chambers of the more luxurious nobles were at this time fitted up with much profusion of rich draperies, gorgeous tapestries, and splendidly carved and gilded furniture. Lord Woodville inherited and shared all the lavish tastes of his mother and his family. His brother, the ill-fated Lord Scales, had been the patron of Caxton, having himself translated and composed some of the earliest works published by the Father of Printing, and the Captain of the Wight upheld the traditions of his house.

Seated before an elaborately-carved desk, lighted by long wax candles standing in exquisitely-designed brass candlesticks, whose bold bosses and delicate spiral work reflected the light in countless sparkles and scintillations, sat the Lord Woodville, his handsome face in conspicuous distinctness with the light shining full upon it, while behind hung a gorgeous tapestry from the looms of Flanders, which had belonged to his mother, Jacquetta of Luxemburg. He was clad in a close-fitting short tunic of black stamped velvet, made very full across the chest and shoulders, and drawn in with narrowing pleats at the waist, where it was confined by a magnificent belt of scarlet Cordovan leather, richly studded with gold and jewelled mountings. A finely-chased silver-hilted poignard hung at his right side, and his shapely legs were set off to fullest advantage by his tight-fitting hose, which, after the fashion of the time, were parti-coloured, of light blue and white in alternate pieces. Long and fanciful scarlet Cordovan slippers encased his feet, and a rich purple mantle, lined with the fur of the silver fox, hung over the back of his chair. One elegantly-formed hand rested on the desk, where a few characters had been inscribed on a sheet of paper before him, while the other arm hung negligently over the back of his chair. There was a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, and no one could have realised in that slightly effeminate figure, and almost womanish face, with its sensitive mouth and finely-chiselled nose and broad brow, round which the long hair fell in waving masses, the warrior who had fought in nearly all the bloodiest battles of those fierce civil wars, and had borne himself in ranged field or tented lists "righte hardilie, valyentlie, and of full lusty prowess." For the conflict on the battle-field was then no child's play as regards the noble, to whom quarter in those bloody civil wars was rarely or never given.

It was probably the refined tastes of the Woodvilles, while rendering them such favourites with the luxurious Edward IV. and the ladies of his court, which caused the ruder barons of that rough age to hate them so bitterly. The taunt flung in the face of Lord Rivers and his son by Warwick, when he was brought before him a prisoner at Calais, showed the malignity of hate and contempt the nobles felt for the family, a hatred arising, no doubt, from jealousy at the Woodvilles' sudden rise to distinction, but aggravated by a contempt for their accomplishments, which were considered totally inconsistent with the stern realities of life. How was it possible that a hardy knight and well-seasoned man-at-arms could find time to paint, write, or even read? Such occupations were for jongleurs or monks, not belted knights and stout barons.

As Ralph dropped the curtain behind him, the Captain of the Wight rose from his chair, the dreamy look of abstraction giving place to the alertness of real life.

"Well, Master Lisle, thou hast been a dullard on the way; what hath made thee so late?"

"There was a thick mist abroad, my lord."

"Oh, and thou lost thy way? Like enough. These sea fogs are sudden in their uprising. But thou gavest my missive to the Hermit?"

"Yea, my lord, and he bid me say that he had seen no sail, but that, as the mist had overspread the land and sea the latter part of the day, it were very possible for a schallop to have gotten past unnoticed."

"Yea, forsooth, he sayeth well," said the Captain thoughtfully; then he added, "There was no other message?"

"None my lord, save--" and Ralph hesitated, for he did not like to tell of his mishaps, and as he thought of the strange adventure on the wild cliff, in the brilliant light of that luxurious room, he could scarcely believe it was not a dream. The utter contrast between the present moment, the elegant surroundings, the absolute security of that splendid castle, with all its guards, walls, men-at-arms, bastions, archers, and turrets, and the wild weirdness of that solitary wrestle on the verge of the black precipice, in the cold light of the moon, and the ghostly vapour, seemed too impossible. Surely he must have dreamt it.

"Save what, my child?" said Lord Woodville.

"Save that I lost my way, and--" and again he hesitated.

"Well, my page, and what?"

"And I was set on by a base caitiff."

"Ay, marry--who has dared to lay hands on one of my pages?"

"That I know not, my lord," and then Ralph narrated the adventure as best he could.

Lord Woodville listened to the end, his countenance expressing no feeling until Ralph came to the part where the man bid him take a note to the Captain of the Wight. He then looked up gravely, and said,

"Where is it, my child?"

Ralph fumbled in his pocket; he searched everywhere--he could not find it. Seeing his nervousness, the Lord Woodville said, smiling,--

"Nay, fair page, take it quietly; thou mayest have overlooked it. Search each of thy pockets one by one, and so we shall arrive at a just conclusion."

Ralph did as he was told, and displayed but few things to the amused eyes of Lord Woodville, for he had not troubled to replace the rubbish which the man had left upon the grass when he turned out his pockets. When all had been gone through, there was nothing found.

"My lord," said Ralph, abashed, "I must have dropped it when I delivered thy missive to the Hermit of St Catherine's."

"Like enough, my page; but thou shouldest be more careful. An thou didst, I shall get it in the morning; or thou canst ride in search of it. But thou art sure thou hast not been dreaming?" added Lord Woodville, with a smile.

"Nay, my lord, that I will warrant, for thou mayest see the stain of the grass and the earth on my surcoat and hose."

"Well that is somewhat, certes, but 'tis a quaint tale. Who could they be who would attack thee, do thee no harm, take no gold from thee, or strip thee of thy rich poignard and gaudy dress? For I see they have left thee thy purse and gold pieces."

"Nay, my lord, I know not; but I can show thee the place to-morrow, an thou wilt ride thither."

"What was the man like who captured you? Didst thou see his face?"

"Nay, my lord, for he ever came between me and the moon; but he was of marvellous strength, and of a wondrous bigness; and he spoke like one in authority, and of gentle birth and breeding."

"Well, 'tis a strange adventure, in sooth, and we will take thought for it to-morrow. Perchance thou mayest find the missive in thy saddle housings, or in thy dress, as thou retirest to sleep. But it groweth late; get thee now to thy rest. I shall need thee to-morrow."

So saying, Lord Woodville nodded kindly to the boy, as a sign for him to retire, and Ralph left the room, glad enough to have escaped so easily, marvelling more than ever whether what had happened had really been a dream.

Meanwhile the Captain of the Wight stood musing before his fire, for there was now need for a fire, since the season was drawing on, and it was near the end of September, while the thick stone walls of the strong building were damp and cold.

Presently he went to his desk, pressed a spring, and out of a drawer at the side he took a little scented leathern case. Opening this, he took out two very faded flowers, a long lock of wavy soft brown hair, and a golden heart. He gazed at the silent relics, his lips moved, and he crossed himself devoutly. He then, after pressing them to his lips, put them back in the case, shut the case up, and replaced it in the drawer, which he carefully fastened again.

This done, with a heavy sigh he stepped across to a prie dieu, and devoutly kneeling before a richly-carved crucifix, he remained absorbed in prayer. When he rose up, his face looked white and haggard. Before retiring to rest, he drew aside the curtain over his door, opened it, and called to the archer on guard to pass the word to the man who relieved him, to usher, without question, any monk who should come to him in the morning.

When Ralph awoke next morning, the events of the previous night seemed more than ever like a dream. The commonplace realities of everyday life, the bright morning sun, the boyish chaff of his companions, and the decisive tone of Tom o' Kingston as he put them through their exercises, seemed so utterly out of keeping with the romantic adventure of the night before.

Dicky Cheke seemed somewhat crestfallen this morning, and he and Maurice Woodville had each a rather swollen cheek and lip, while Willie Newenhall was decidedly puffy and red about the eye.

Even Bowerman showed signs of the manful handling given him by Ralph, who had almost forgotten the scuffle, in the greater excitement that had followed.

"I' faith, Ralph," said Dicky Cheke, "there'll be war anon, and Bowerman shall grin. What do you think? After you had gone, and the Captain had gotten well away, that rogue 'Pig's Eyes' got Bowerman to attack us; but we gave them enough work before we gave in, and that's wh............