"And take my message to thy revered uncle, bold young Sir Knight. Tell him that Margaret de Ripariis has but lived these long years in sorrow and mourning for the false step into which she was both forced and betrayed, and that she hath ever held his memory dear."
Then a man's voice answered from below,--
"Fare thee well, my heart's darling, Aliva!--My Lady Margaret, I salute thee. Forget not the signal. When the last assault comes--as come full soon it must--and we attack this mighty keep, hang your scarves from the windows of the chamber to which ye retreat, and I will come and convey ye both away in safety."
Then Bertram heard the speaker cautiously feeling his way among the loose stones which lay at the foot of the keep.
He drew a short, sharp breath, and clinched his teeth.
"By the mass," he exclaimed, "though naught can undo my folly in the past, yet I will have vengeance now! Ho, warder, ho!" he cried, hurrying from the chapel into the hall, and shouting to the sentry on duty at the entrance; "ho! quick to the window, and take thy aim at yon figure hastening down to the river wall. 'Tis the young knight De Beauchamp. It grows light enow for thee to see thy mark."
At that moment William de Breauté entered the hall from the turret staircase in the corner. He had been taking a few hours' sleep in one of the upper chambers, and was now about to sally out on his early morning rounds, fearing an attack when his guards were weary and drowsy.
"How sayest thou, Sir Chaplain?" he exclaimed; "Ralph de Beauchamp here--beneath the castle wall! 'Tis not possible!"
"Nay, Sir William, not so impossible," replied the priest. "I trow he hath been drawn across the Ouse by a lodestar within these walls. From the chapel window I heard him e'en now hold converse with the Lady Aliva at a window above."
With a furious volley of French oaths William de Breauté rushed wildly out of the hall, calling upon all the sentries near to stop or kill Sir Ralph.