A broad silver radiance spread above the black tops of the beech¹ trees. It was the moon rising behind the wood, throwing long slants² of light across the grasslands³, and making a glimmer⁴ of mystery everywhere. The towering shadow of the beech wood still lay upon the island and the mere⁵, leaving them all black in a world of tremulous white light.  
Mellis drew aside suddenly, her arms over her bosom⁶, her eyes looking toward the tops of the beech trees.
 
“Martin!”
 
A something in her voice kept him from looking at her.
 
“I must become a man. This adventure has shipwrecked me.”
 
He was most desperately⁷ and dearly perplexed⁸.
 
“Is there no cloth anywhere?”
 
She could not help laughing at his immense seriousness.
 
“Have you forgotten? Ah!”
 
The moon seemed to glide⁹ suddenly above the beech wood, huge, and yellow, and stealthy. The shadows slipped away from the island; the long grass glimmered¹⁰ like silver wire; the mere shone like a shield.
 
Mellis threw herself in the long grass.
 
“Have you forgotten all our gear in that cellar? If you love me, man—hasten.”
 
“What shall I bring?”
 
“A suit of light armor, and a wadded coat—and—and—things to go under it.”
 
He blundered off, calling himself the most imbecile fool that ever was; but before he had got across the orchard¹¹ he heard Falconer hailing him.
 
“Martin Valliant—Martin Valliant!”
 
Martin had other matters to attend to. John Falconer could wait. But he gave him an answering shout,
 
“Is that Master Falconer?”
 
“Aye.”
 
“All’s well.”
 
“Let down the bridge, man.”
 
“All in good season.”
 
Martin ran to the tower, groped for the ring of the great stone, found it, and then remembered that he would need a light. The tinder-box and the candles were in Mellis’s room. He was about to go for them when he heard a sound of soft footsteps, and some one glided¹² up the stairs.
 
“Martin!”
 
“I need a light.”
 
“The tinder-box is above. Come to me in a moment.”
 
He lifted the stone out, rolled it aside, and waited. He could hear the ring of the flint against the steel, and then her voice calling to him softly,
 
“Here. It is lighted.”
 
Martin climbed the stairs and found a candle burning outside her door. He picked it up, holding it in one big hand and shading it as though that flame was one of the most precious things in the world. The light played upon his solemn face, and mirrored itself in his grave, intent eyes. He held his breath all the way down the stairs; the flame was a flickering¹³ soul, and he was guarding it.
 
So Martin lowered himself into the vault¹⁴, and setting that precious candle on a stone bracket let into the wall, he made a great disorder¹⁵ among the stuff that was stored there. The idea of thoroughness obsessed¹⁶ him, of not letting Mellis lack for anything that might be of use in such a crisis. He made three journeys to the landing outside her chamber¹⁷ door, and the merchandise that was piled there testified to his sincerity¹⁸. It included a suit of light mail; a woolen¹⁹ doublet and hose to be worn beneath it; a belt, sword and dagger²⁰; leather shoes; an odd piece of green cloth that bows had been wrapped in; some strips of leather; a green and blue banner rolled in a canvas bag. He left the candle burning there, and went down to lower the bridge for Falconer and his men.
 
John Falconer had torches with him, and the causeway was a glare of light. Martin lowered the bridge and swung the gate open; Falconer came across.
 
He stared at Martin Valliant.
 
“Hallo! This is a queer way to go harnessed.”
 
“There is much to be told.”
 
“Is the child safe?”
 
“She is in her chamber. Her men were ambushed²¹ this morning, and she was taken.”
 
Falconer nodded understandingly.
 
“You have been in the water, my friend?”
 
“Swartz and I swam across to rescue her.”
 
“Swartz? Peter Swartz?”
 
“He is with us now. He went into the woods to raise an alarm, while I saved Mellis. Warn your men that he is a friend.”
 
Martin and John Falconer passed on into the courtyard, and the Forest followed them with a tossing of torches, and much grim jubilation²². The men were as diverse and rustic²³ as their weapons. Oak clubs, scythe²⁴ blades on poles, axes, spits, wooden mallets, all came dancing into the yard of Woodmere. Many of the men had bows on their backs and arrows stuck in their belts. Not a few were wounded. There were bloody²⁵ faces, arms that hung limp, stockings soaked all red. But the crowd was hot, triumphant²⁶, and fiercely merry; they had tasted blood; many vile²⁷ things had been avenged²⁸.
 
“Look to your wounds, lads. Lay a fire, some of you. We have come far, and no man is grudged²⁹ his supper.”
 
Several of the Forest gentry³⁰ gathered around Falconer, and looked curiously³¹ at Martin Valliant.
 
“Is this the fellow?”
 
“He has some limbs on him.”
 
“But a runaway³² priest, gentles, is black company. What say you?”
 
Falconer answered them gruffly:
 
“And what are we but traitors³³, so long as Crookback wears the crown! Men who can fight are the blood and muscle of such a venture as ours. Use your wits, gentlemen. We are not women to tilt³⁴ our noses and screw up our mouths.”
 
Martin had drawn³⁵ aside. He felt a stranger and almost an outcast under the eyes of these mesne lords who stared at him and did not lower their voices. The mysterious and solitary³⁶ nights and days had vanished. He saw Mellis surrounded by a crowd of figures, knights³⁷, yeomen, foresters. They seemed to thrust him back into the darkness; he had served his purpose and no one held out a hand.
 
He gathered up his harness from the spot where he had left it by the gate that led into the garden, and made his way into the orchard. The life had gone out of him for the moment; this secret and love-enchanted island had been seized by a hundred rough fellows who shouted and crowded in the courtyard. He did not belong to them; he was a thing to be eyed with distrust.
 
The moonlight flooded the orchard, and Martin sat down under an apple tree and began to arm himself, but there was no pride of purpose in his hands. Bitter thoughts crowded into his heart, and he sank in a slough³⁸ of self-abasement. He had been in heaven, and suddenly he found himself in hell. What was he but an outcast, a murderer, a thing that was neither priest nor man? And he had believed for one short hour that Mellis loved him. What madness! What could he be to her, or she to him? He had mistaken a child’s gratitude³⁹ for the love of the woman. The danger was past, for she was in the midst of friends; he had played his part, and the dream was ended.
 
Into the melancholy⁴⁰ circle of his tho............