When I drew rein at the foot of the gentle slope upon which the manor-house stood, I could hear the sound of many horses entering the gate above. It seemed strange to me that so large a company should be coming there at so late an hour, but I soon saw the cause.
As I entered the gate some serving-men were setting torches in the sconces round the court, and my bewildered eyes saw their lurid light fall on a whole train of packhorses which almost filled the place.
Frank Drake together with some of his brothers and Harry were moving busily and silently amongst them. They had plainly just come in, and were setting about unloading the packs as though they had no spare time on their hands. Sir Fulke was standing on the steps of the hall looking at the busy scene below him.
'Who's there?' cried he, suddenly catching sight of Lashmer and me dimly in the gateway. 'Where the devil is John Porter? Harry, quick to the gate; there are strangers!'
Frank Drake and Harry whipped out their swords in a trice and sprang towards me.
'Stand!' they cried together. 'Who are you?'
'A friend!' cried I, riding out into the light and springing from my horse.
'Mass!' said Drake, 'but I thought you were some of those rake-hells from Hoo that had got wind of our luck and wanted to cut a slice for themselves. Is my Gazehound safe?'
'Yes,' said I, 'safe at her moorings, and the cargo in the hold of the hulk. And how fares it with the Don?'
'As well as man may,' answered Drake, 'with a hole such as you whipped through him. He lives; but no more.'