'By the rood!' cried John, looking around him exultantly, 'where have we seen since we left such noble cows, such fleecy sheep, grass so green, or a man so drunk as yonder rogue who lies in the gap of the hedge?'
'Ah, John,' Alleyne answered wearily, 'it is well for you, but I never thought that my home-coming would be so sad a one. My heart is heavy for my dear lord and for Aylward, and I know not how I may break the news to the Lady Mary and to the Lady Maude, if they have not yet had tidings of it.'
John gave a groan which made the horses shy. 'It is indeed a black business,' said he. 'But be not sad, for I shall give half these crowns to my old mother, and half will I add to the money which you may have, and so we shall buy that yellow cog wherein we sail to Bordeaux, and in it we shall go forth and seek Sir Nigel.'
Alleyne smiled, but shook his head. 'Were he alive we should have had word of him ere now,' said he. 'But what is this town before us?'
'Why, it is Romsey!' cried John. 'See the tower of the old grey church, and the long stretch of the nunnery. But here sits a very holy man, and I shall give him a crown for his prayers.'
Three large stones formed a rough cot by the roadside, and beside it, basking in the sun, sat the hermit, with clay-coloured face, dull eyes, and long withered hands. With crossed ankles and sunken head, he sat as though all his life had passed out of him, with the beads slipping slowly through his thin yellow fingers. Behind him lay the narrow cell, clay floored and damp, comfortless, profitless, and sordid. Beyond it there lay amid the trees the wattle-and-daub hut of a labourer, the door open, and the single room exposed to the view. The man, ruddy and yellow-haired, stood leaning upon the spade wherewith he had been at work upon the garden patch. From behind him came the ripple of a happy woman's laughter, and two young urchins darted forth from the hut, bare-legged and towsy, while the mother, stepping out, laid her hand upon her husband's arm
