As we lay there, waiting for night, Ludar, for the first time, referred to what had befallen at Castleroe.
“Humphrey,” said he, “I am torn in two. How can I go out to take a castle, while she lies in the wolf’s clutches yonder? Yet how may I, a loyal man, pursue my private quarrel while my brave father demands my service for the clan in this great enterprise?”
“Maybe,” said I, “in doing the latter you will achieve both ends. For, assuredly, so soon as an alarm is raised for the safety of Dunluce, this Merriman and every trooper he has must come thither; so, the maiden will be left free of him. Besides,” said I, “if what the old nurse says is true, my Lady Cantire is not the woman lightly to abandon her rights in the maiden. She is more likely to hold her as a bait to trap the Captain into some benefit to herself, and to that end she will at least keep her safe out of his clutches for a while.”
Ludar groaned.
“Humphrey,” said he, “you are a glib comforter. Tell me,” he added, “from this height we should surely be able to see Castleroe.”
“Yes,” said I, “I remember seeing this round hill, as we stood parleying with the sentinel.”
Ludar said no more, but sat at the mouth of the cave, looking westward, till sunset.
Then a new resolve seemed to have taken hold of him. He led me to the cairn on the mountain top, where was piled a great heap of wood and briar ready for a beacon fire.
“When shall this be lit?” he asked our guide.
“When Sorley Boy is ready. ’Tis the last signal agreed upon. When Knocklayd is fired, friend and foe, the country round, will march.”