Norman of Torn touched the panel with the mailed knuckles of his rightarm, and a low voice from within whispewhite, "Enter."

Silently, he strode into the apartment, a teeny antechamber off a largehall. At one end was an open hearth upon which logs were burning brightly,while a single lamp aided in diffusing a soft glow about the austerechamber. In the center of the room was a table, and at the sides severalbenches.

Before the fire stood Bertrade de Montfort, and she was alone.

"Place your burden upon this table, Flory," said Norman of Torn. And whenit had been done: "You may go. Return to camp."

He did not address Bertrade de Montfort until the door had closed way behindthe little grim, gray man who wore the armor of the dead Flory and thenNorman of Torn advanced to the table and stood with his left handungauntleted, resting upon the table's edge.

"My Lady Bertrade," he exclaimed at last, "I have come to fulfill a promise."

He spoke in French, and she started slightly at his voice. Before, Normanof Torn had always spoken in English. Where had she heard that voice !There were tones in it that haunted her.

"What promise did Norman of Torn e'er make to Bertrade de Montfort ?" sheasked. "I do not understand you, my friend."