"Silence, listen."
A dry old oak which had perhaps seen the Druids, and felt the keen knife bare its bosom of the hallowed mistletoe, had kindled and fallen; as it fell sending forth showers upon showers of sparks.
The fall of the tree opened a sort of vista in the flames, and revealed——
"Look," said the Baron, "I see something like the roof of a hut just beyond the opening the tree has made."
"I think so too," said Sir Milo of Gloucester.
"Very well, wait here awhile, my men; these reeds are all burnt, and the ground will soon cool, then you may go in and see what that hut contains: reserve them for my judgment. Here, Tristam, here, Raoul, hold our horses."
Two sprightly-looking boy pages took the reins, and Brian and Milo, if we may presume to call them by such familiar appellations, walked together in the glade.
Deep were their cogitations, and how much the welfare of England depended upon them, would hardly be believed by our readers. We would fain reveal what they said, but only the half can be told.
"It can be endured no longer!"
"Soon no one but he will be allowed to build a castle!"