But the gentle voice
and soft touch of the Lady Mary had changed suddenly to the harsh
accents and rough grip of Black Simon, the fierce Norfolk
man-at-arms.
"Surely you are the Squire Loring," he said, peering close to his
face in the darkness.
"I am he. What then?"
"I have searched through the camp for you, but when I saw the
great horse tethered near these bushes, I thought you would be
found hard by. I would have a word with you."
"Speak on."
"This man Aylward the bowman was my friend, and it is the nature
that God has given me to love my friends even as I hate my foes.
He is also thy servant, and it has seemed to me that you love him
also."
"I have good cause so to do."
"Then you and I, Squire Loring, have more reason to strive on his
behalf than any of these others, who think more of taking the
castle than of saving those who are captives within. Do you not
see that such a man as this robber lord would, when all else had
failed him, most surely cut the throats of his prisoners at the
last instant before the castle fell, knowing well that come what
might he would have short shrift himself? Is that not certain?"
"By Saint Paul! I had not thought of it."
"I was with you, hammering at the inner gate," said Simon, "and
yet once when I thought that it was giving way I said in my heart:
`Good-by, Samkin! I shall never see you more.
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