De Lacy took a quick turn up and down the room. "God in Heaven, Sir John! has Beatrix come through this without injury or insult?"
"What! What! Injury or insult! They would not dare———?" De Bury cried passionately.
"They have dared to seize and hold her prisoner—would they would dare no more."
The old Knight sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands… "The heiress of the Clares—the favorite of the Queen… They would not dare.—Yet if they have———"
"Beatrix will be dead," said De Lacy, "and naught left for me but vengeance."
"Aye! she was ever a brave lass and would kill herself without a whit of hesitation. Nathless, the rescue or the vengeance is for me, also—I ride with you to-morrow?"
"But are you strong enough to risk it?"
"By St. Luke! strong enough to ride to Land's End if need be to strike a blow for Beatrix,"—smiting the table with his fist.
"Then together be it, and welcome. Here is to the Countess and her rescue ere the morrow's sun go down!" and he filled two goblets with wine.
"And death and confusion to her captors," Sir John echoed, raising high his glass.