'I heard naught,' said Falk. ''Twould be but the grinding of a chain beside a horseblock.'
Young Owen went away, and sat where the king and his knights listened to the marvellous tales of the wise Gildas, who told of most terrible witches and warlocks in the wizard woods of Brittany.
Again the lad approached the door and listened; then going to the porter he said:
'This drenching storm will tear the last poor leaves from the forest trees, I ween, Sir Falk.'
'Of a truth,' said the porter, ''tis overlate for leaves. They be stuck in the mire of the rides long ere this.'
'They could not be blown so far in this gushing storm,' said the page, 'and therefore I have deceived myself. But I thought I heard the rustle of leaves on the stones before the door but now.'
'It could not be,' said the porter; 'it was doubtless the gouts of water from the roof of the hall thou didst hear.'
Owen went away, but in a little while returned, and softly opened the wicket panel in the door a little way, and looked forth into the roaring darkness of rain and wind.
'Think you, Sir Falk,' he said, going to the porter, 'that the witches from the woods of Denn do send their baleful fires on such a night as this to lead poor houseless wretches into the marsh below the wall?'
The porter laughed.