of Jago, and Dunwal kept to himself about the palace boundaries
within the old ramparts, and seemed to shun notice. As for me, word
went to Ina that all was well, and he sent a letter back to say
that it would please him to know that I was with Owen for a time
yet. So I bided with him, and for a time all went well, for we
heard nought of Tregoz in any way, while another of his friends was
taken and imprisoned in some western fortress of Gerent's. Nor were
there any more attacks made on Owen, so that after a little while
we went about, hunting and hawking, in all freedom, for danger
seemed to have passed with the taking of Dunwal as hostage.

Then one day a guard from the gate brought me a folded paper, on
which my name was written in a fair hand, saying that it had been
left for me by a swineherd from the hill, who said that it was from
some mass priest whom I knew. The guard had let the man go away,
deeming that, of course, there was no need to keep him. Nor had
they asked who the priest might be, as it was said that I knew him.

I took the letter idly and went to my stables with it in my hand,
and opened and read it as I walked.

"To Oswald, son of Owen.--It is not good to sleep in the
moonlight."

That was all it said, and there was no name at the end of it. I
thought it foolish enough, for every one knows that the cold white
light of the moon is held to be harmful for sleepers in the open
air. But I was not in the way of sleeping out in this early season
with its cold, though, of course, it was always possible that one
might be belated on the hills and have to make a night in the