"It seems the only thing to do. I can come down the hill to meet you, so that you——"
"No, no. We will meet under the walls of Thuron; that is settled, and I shall now call the captain and his men to unbind you. I suppose they would not be pleased if I untied your cords."
The impatient captain, to his amazement, was summoned, after he had quite made up his mind that the girl would connive at the prisoner's escape. Conrad then, in presence of the men, gave the captain his word that he would not again attempt to pass the lines, and that he would inform no one in the castle of anything he might chance to have seen or heard while he was in Alken. He was then unbound and conducted through the lines, and set his face towards the steep and dark hill as the deep toned bell of the castle struck the hour of midnight. Although he had not told Hilda so, he feared treachery from the captain and his men. He had seen the captain's hesitancy regarding his threatened execution and wondered why that officer contented himself with the simple word of a captured underling, for Conrad knew how little dependence was placed even on the oath of such as he. He believed that for some reason the captain did not wish to hang him, but intended to have him set on in the dark and there quietly made away with. So when he had mounted a few steps he paused and listened intently, but could detect no indication of followers. Further up he paused again, and this time he certainly heard some one coming with apparent caution, yet, as if unfamiliar with the ground, the follower stumbled now and again among the vines and bushes. Conrad hurried up the slope and paused a third time, now being sure that he was indeed tracked, for the man behind came on with less circumspection and prudence. As Conrad, resolving to distance his pursuer in the race, plunged onward and upwards, he was startled by a man springing from the bushes in front who seized him by the shoulder. Instantly Conrad sprang upon him, making no outcry and determined that his antagonist should make none either, for he clutched the unknown firmly by the throat, and bore him to the earth, squeezing all possibility of sound from his windpipe. Kneeling thus above his unexpected foe, he tried to reach his knife, to give quietus to the under man before his accomplice could come up with them, for in spite of the absence of cries the two combatants made much noise thrashing about among the vines; but now the under man, who had been so easily pushed backwards, seemed to gather both strength and courage, fighting with such bravery of despair that Conrad had all he could do to keep him down, using both hands instead of one. If he was to maintain his position on top, the knife was out of the question, so he devoted his efforts to the strangling of the man beneath him. In the midst of this arduous occupation, the third man arrived on the scene.
CHAPTER XXX. THE STRUGGLE IN THE DARK.
"Hold!" cried the newcomer. "Which is for the Archbishop—under dog or upper dog? A plague on this darkness which lets me see distinctly neither one nor the other."
Surrey underneath could not speak, and Conrad above thought it more prudent not to speak.
"Answer, upper dog," cried Roger Kent, peering at them, "or take your fingers from the under dog's throat and let him answer, otherwise I will run my knife into you on the chance that you are my enemy."
"You are free," said Conrad, maintaining his hold, but conscious that he had little chance against the two of them, "therefore declare yourself."