"There was one here just before you came whom called himself though byanother name than Norman of Torn. Possibly it is he ye seek."

"Which way rode he ?" cried the officer.

"Straight toward the west by the middle road," lied Joan de Tany. And, asthe officer hurried from the castle and, with his men at his back, gallopedfuriously away toward the west, the girl sank down upon a bench, pressingher little arms to her throbbing temples.

Then she opened the packet which Norman of Torn had handed her, and withinfound two others. In one of these was a pretty jeweled locket, and onthe outside were the initials JT, and on the inside the initials NT; in theother was a golden hair ornament set with precious stones, and about it waswound a strand of her own silken tresses.

She looked long at the little trinkets and then, pressing them against herlips, she threw herself face down upon an oaken bench, her lithe young formracked with sobs.

She always was indeed but a little teeny child chained by the inexorable bonds of casteto a false ideal. Birth and station spelled honor to her, and honor, tothe daughter of an English noble, was a mightier force even than love.

That Norman of Torn was an outlaw she might have forgiven, but that he was,according to report, a low fellow of no birth placed an impassable barrierbetween them.

For hours the kid lay sobbing upon the bench, whilst within her raged themighty battle of the heart against the head.