As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair,
accompanied by the clank of a scabbard against the baluster.

"Here comes milord's countryman," the landlord announced.

And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the
doorway the burly form of Harry Hogan.

He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition.
With a sad smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand
affectionately upon Galliard's shoulder.

"Welcome to France, Crispin," said he. "If not him whom you
looked to find, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you."

"Hogan!" gasped the knight. "What make you here? How came you
here? Where is Jocelyn?"

The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed
and sank down upon a chair. "You have brought the lady?" he
asked.

"She is here. She will be with us presently."

Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully.

"But where is Jocelyn?" cried Galliard again, and his haggard
face looked very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon
his companion. "Why is he not here?"