"Nought, my lord."
"Keep a good look-out; I expect guests."
And Brian Fitz-Count resumed his walk below—to and fro, communing with his own moody thoughts.
An hour had passed away, when the sentinel cried aloud—
"A party of men approaches along the lower Ickleton Way from the west."
"How many in number?"
"About twenty."
"Where are they?"
"They cross the moor and have just left the South Moor Town."