'Get ready, my lord,' it said; 'it is the hour to ride.' Like sleep-walkers we moved into the sharp air.

Hussin led us out of an old postern and then through a place like an orchard to the shelter of some tall evergreen trees.

There horses stood, champing quietly from their nosebags.

'Good,' I thought; 'a feed of oats before a big effort.' There were nine beasts for nine riders.

We mounted without a word and filed through a grove of trees to where a broken paling marked the beginning of cultivated land.