De Lacy rode back to greet him.
"Did you come from London at that pace, Ralph?" he asked as they met.
"Nay, only from Pontefract to overtake you."
"You have news of the Countess?"
"Alas, no. I reached Pontefract town from London last night, but too late to report at the castle before morning… Now, His Majesty can wait until we have found Beatrix. I ride with you, my friend."
De Lacy put out his hand and De Wilton reached over and took it; and in the firm grip of their fingers was the confession of the one and the sympathetic appreciation of the other.
"We will save her, never fear," Sir Ralph said. Then his eyes fell on the ring. "By St. George, The Boar! I salute you—for even though you are not the King, still are you almost as powerful. Whoever wears that ring has all but the title—aye, and more—he has the King's enemies as well as his own."
"And me a stranger!" De Lacy observed tersely.
"Aye, and what with that, and the Ring, and the Countess, your life is not worth a third that mine is."
"It is worth absolutely nothing to me unless Beatrix be found alive."