How long this fearful struggle would have continued, or who would finally be victor, was undecided still, when suddenly the wild mocking laugh of madness sounded in the very ear of Nigel, and a voice shouted aloud, “Fight on, my bonny lord; see, see, how I care for your winsome bride,” and the maniac form of Jean Roy rushed by through the thickest ranks of the men, swift, swift as the lightning track.  A veil of silver tissue floated from her shoulder, and she seemed to be bearing something in her arms, but what, the rapidity of her way precluded all discovery.  The fierce soldiers shrunk away from her, as if appalled by her gaunt, spectral look, or too much scared by her sudden appearance to attempt detaining her.  The eye of Nigel involuntarily turned from his foe to follow her; he recognized the veil, and fancy did the rest.  He saw her near a part of the wall which was tottering beneath the engines of the English; there was a wild shriek in other tones than hers, the wall fell, burying the maniac in its ruins.  A mist came over the senses of the young knight, strength suddenly fled his arm, he stepped back as to recover himself, but slipped and fell, the violence of the fall dashing his sword many yards in air.  “I yield me true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,” he said, in a tone so startling in its agony that the rudest heart beside him shrunk within itself appalled, and for a minute Lancaster checked the words upon his lips.

“Nay, nay, yield not in such tone, my gallant foe!” he said, with eager courtesy, and with his own hand aiding him to rise.  “Would that I were the majesty of England, I should deem myself debased did I hold such gallantry in durance.  Of a truth, thou hast robbed me of my conquest, fair sir, for it was no skill of mine which brought thee to the ground.  I may thank that shrieking mad woman, perchance, for the preservation of my laurels.”

“I give you thanks for your courtesy, my lord,” replied Sir Nigel, striving to recover himself; “but I pray you pardon me, if I beseech you let that falling mass be cleared at once, and note if that unhappy woman breathes.  Methought,” he added, in stronger agitation, “she carried something in her arms.”

“She did,” answered many voices; “some child or girl, who was struggling, though the head was muffled up as if to prevent all sounds.”

“See to it, and bring us news of what you find,” said Lancaster, hastily, for the same ghastly expression passed over the countenance of his prisoner as had startled him at first.  “Thou art not well, my good lord?” he continued kindly.

“Nay, I am well, my lord; but I will go with you,” replied the young knight, slowly, as if collecting strength ere he could speak.  “I am wearied with the turmoil of the last twelve hours’ fighting against fire and sword at once; I would fain see the noble Hereford, and with his permission rest me a brief while.”