Martin leapt to the open
door; but it was slammed in his face by men outside with scornful
laughter.
The priest took Hereward's head in his hands, wept over him, blessed him
for having slain Goliath like young David, and then set food and drink
before the two; but he answered Martin's questions only with sighs and
shakings of the head.
"Let us eat and drink, then," said Martin, "and after that you, my lord,
sleep off your wounds while I watch the door. I have no fancy for these
fellows taking us unawares at night."
Martin lay quietly across the door till the small hours, listening to
every sound, till the key creaked once more in the lock. He started at the
sound, and seizing the person who entered round the neck, whispered, "One
word, and you are dead."
"Do not hurt me," half shrieked a stifled voice; and Martin Lightfoot, to
his surprise, found that he had grasped no armed man, but the slight frame
of a young girl.
"I am the Princess," she whispered; "let me in."
"A very pretty hostage for us," thought Martin, and letting her go seized
the key, locking the door in the inside.
"Take me to your master," she cried, and Martin led her up the church
wondering, but half suspecting some further trap.
"You have a dagger in your hand," said he, holding her wrist.
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