Let the signal fires
blaze to warn the churls, while we amuse ourselves with the messenger.
To-morrow we will chase them so far over the hills that they will never find
their way back again."
Beckoning to Morcard, he began to consult him concerning the most effective
arrangement of the sentinels; and there was a muffled clatter of weapons as
men went to and fro with hasty steps. At a word from the steward, the women
went softly from the room and up the winding stairs to their quarters, the
rustling of their dresses coming back with ghostly stealthiness.
When all was ready the messenger was brought in between guards. Wrapped in
dirty sheepskins, he swaggered to the centre of the room, and the light that
fell on his tanned face showed a scar running the full length of his cheek.
With his first glance, the Lord of Ivarsdale uttered an exclamation.
"Now, by Saint Mary, I have seen you before, fellow! Were you not the leader
of the band we drove away last month?"
The Scar-Cheek laughed impudently. "I will not conceal it; yet I did not know
that my beauty was so showy. The chief was wise to send Brown-Cloak to do the
spying."
"Brown-Cloak! The beggar?" was cried all down the hall.
But the messenger's eyes had fallen on the black-haired boy, who stood staring
at him from the fireside. His wide mouth opened in astonishment.
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