Martin Valliant and Swartz went back to the tower, for a stage had been set and the play was about to begin with the wracking of a man’s soul.  
Martin leaned against the battlement, his face turned toward the great beech¹ wood, and his eyes fixed² on the green bower³ that Rich’s men had built. He had taken Swartz’s words to heart; he was hardening himself, preparing to bear his torture without flinching⁴ and without uttering a sound. He thought of the day when he had hung on the cross to prove himself stronger than Kate Succory’s youth, and how the physical pain was as nothing to this torment⁵ of the soul. Swartz sat close to him with his back to the wall, and Swartz’s face was very grim. He had changed sides, turned rebel; he was a good hound, and no cur.
 
Fulk de Lisle had vanished into the beech wood, but in a short while his red figure reappeared. He stood leaning with one hand against a tree trunk as though waiting for some order of his to be obeyed, and Martin Valliant watched him with steady eyes, letting his anger gather like deep water behind a dam.
 
Something white glimmered⁶ under the trees. It drew nearer, and was led forth⁸ into the sunlight close to where Fulk de Lisle stood waiting. Martin Valliant covered his eyes with his forearm, and Swartz, who had put his eye to his squint-hole, rolled aside, and stared at the sky.
 
Martin Valliant said never a word. A new and wonderful strength seemed to come to him; he uncovered his eyes, stood up calmly with a face that was like a great white light. His lips moved, but no sound came.
 
They had fastened a rope about Mellis’s neck, and the man who held the end of the rope had crowned himself with a wreath of wild flowers. Another fellow who walked behind had a garland on his spear. Fulk de Lisle’s allegory burned itself into Martin Valliant’s brain. This beautiful nakedness was to be sacrificed to shame him.
 
Old Swartz was cursing to himself. He glanced up at Martin and stared in an awed⁹ way at the man’s white and shining face.
 
He saw Martin cross himself.
 
“Some day I shall kill that man,” he said, as though he were praying; “I shall not die till I have killed him.”
 
Mellis was led through the long grass to the green bower. She looked at the ground, but once her eyes lifted to the tower with one tremulous glance of appeal. And Martin’s soul struggled like a live thing in a cage.
 
“It shall not happen!” he said. “By the greatness of God, it shall not happen!”
 
The men led her into the bower and made her lie down upon the bed. One of them tossed a riding-cloak over her. They cut the rope into four pieces, and tied her by her wrists and ankles to the four stakes. Their work was done; they threw their garlands on the ground, and went off laughing and looking mockingly at Woodmere tower.
 
Martin was watching Fulk de Lisle, who came pacing with all the airs of a great lord toward the place where Mellis lay.
 
“What a chance to shoot the red devil!”
 
Swartz rubbed his hands together.
 
“Ah! I thought so.”
 
De Lisle was playing a part, and his swaggering was mere⁷ whimsical insolence¹⁰. He marched up and down in front of the lodge¹¹ of leaves, pointing his toes and cocking his head, the male thing in possession. A servant came down from the wood with a silver cup full of wine, and Fulk de Lisle made a great parade of his drinking. He walked into the bower and drank to Mellis, turned again, and drank to Martin on the tower. He was in high favor with himself. Life was a dissolute jest.
 
Martin Valliant heard Swartz whispering to him.
 
“Have you come by any plan, brother?”
 
“Only that I am going yonder to-night.”
 
His face was gray and hard as a winter dawn.
 
“I can better that plan.”
 
“How?”
 
“They will be too much on the alert to give you an honest chance. If you open the gate and cross the bridge they will be waiting for you. We must make them face two ways—scare them a little.”
 
“Go on.”
 
“I have my horn with me. Picture us stripped, comrade, you with a sharp knife, and I with my horn. We swim the moat after dark, and before the moon is up. I creep through the grass into the woods, get around behind the gentry¹², blow my horn like the last trump¹³, and shout to my imaginary men to cut the rogues¹⁵ to pieces. We must trust to them getting a trifle ruffled¹⁶. You will have to take your chance of saving the child.”
 
Martin stared at him fixedly¹⁷.
 
“Why are you doing this?”
 
“Why? Why do we eat and sleep, man? Because we must. To cheat that red rogue¹⁴ over there is as natural as eating. Thunder! but I have forgotten one thing. The girl would not be able to swim.”
 
Martin hid his knowledge.
 
“I could carry her over. That is nothing.”
 
“Love could carry the moon! What say you to my plan, Martin Valliant?”
 
Martin stoop............