The rope was not so readily procured; and for some time the boy had to remain in the tree called the "elf oak" by the people around, on account of the strangeness of its situation, and support the moaning wretch who lay there, and whom his voice had recalled a little to life. He occupied himself by chafing the man's limbs, and striving to regulate their weight so as to press as little as possible on the tree, which, jarred by the fall of the heavy body upon it, was becoming more and more loosened from its frail tenure in the crevice of the rock.
At length the other rope was dropped to him, and he fastened both round the man, who seemed incapable, either through terror or injury, of giving himself much assistance. Then, supporting himself partly by the rope, but more by clinging to the jutting points of rock, with a hand ever ready to steady the swinging body or turn it aside from a dangerous angle, he clambered up, and then sank down on the grass, wounded, dizzy, and exhausted, but with a strange calmness at his heart, and a great love burning there toward all mankind, and an intense feeling of gratitude toward God for his preservation from a danger whose full horrors he only now began to understand; for, just as he was mounting the last few feet of the ascent, he had heard a crash behind him--the old oak had torn itself from the rock, and was being dashed in fragments by the surf below.
CHAPTER XII.
Caught and Caged.
The man whom Geoffrey had saved was indeed his greatest enemy. He was no other than the captain of the troop who had so lately burned Forest Castle and driven its lord into exile. Enraged at losing the reward which he had considered already his own, and mortified beyond expression at finding himself outwitted by the despised Lollards, he had found the traces of Bertrand like a bloodhound, and having followed them so far, had discovered the retreat of the children of his enemy.
Bertrand recognized him the moment the blood and dust were wiped from his face, and nothing but the positive command of his master's son prevented him from killing him on the spot. Still all precautions must be taken for their safety, and they bound their prisoner securely, placing him in an out-house near the hut, while they prepared everything for instant flight. Their precious pages of Scripture were divided among them and concealed in their garments. Such of the old man's few effects as they could not carry with them they buried or concealed, and partook of a hasty meal.
Their plan was to leave sufficient food and firewood near their prisoner to last him till he should recover or his friends come to seek him. For this purpose Bertrand went to carry him meat, but returned in a moment with a face expressive of mingled wonder and alarm.
"He is gone!" he exclaimed. "Gone, and we are undone! Why did I not strike him down at first? Fool that I was! why did you hinder me, master Geoffrey? We are indeed lost if he escape, for his band is but a short league off in the village. He may have had time to warn them even now;" and Charles Bertrand sprang to the door, cross-bow in hand; but when there, he stopped. Gleaming in the gray twilight which was heralding the morning, he saw the spears of quite a numerous band of soldiers approaching the hill on which the hut stood, from three sides, slowly but surely compassing their prey.
"It is too late," he added more calmly; and in a whisper to Geoffrey, who had followed him, "We might by a rare chance break through--but not those;" and he pointed with the butt of his weapon to the old man, exhausted with the labors and excitement of the night, and Hubert, pale and unused to hardship.
"Go you, trusty Charles," said the boy, grasping the rough hand of the man-at-arms in both his; "I knew not that I had periled their life and yours as well as mine own; go you alone by the rocky path: it lies still in shadow, and they will not see it I stay to die with them."