. His face awoke to a
new thought. "Why, death of a dog! if this Evor's men pass through the
Silva Anderida and hear that this lord Felix is at the villa, there may
be trouble for my lord."

"Ay," said Wulf. There was a certain grimness in his tone. "The son of
Evor hath sworn to have the blood of his father's slayer; therefore it
is quite likely."

"How come you to know these things?" Wardo demanded. The stranger's
manner was always casual to indifference, and Wardo was not over keen to
see what he was not looking for. His question came more from curiosity
than from suspicion, although of this there was something also.

"News travels fast these days," Wulf said briefly. "I got it from a
carter who saw something of the business. I hope you do not think that I
was there? Now where is this inn of yours? I must find it and hasten
back to my lord."

By now they had reached a cobbled street no wider than an alley, running
at right angles to the main street, which led from ford to ford. Down
this they rode abreast, and there was room for no other horseman to pass
them. Bare-shouldered girls laughed down at them from upper windows;
bent crones hobbled from door to door with baskets of fish or produce;
children and dogs scampered from under their horses' feet. The evening
sunshine fell in long slanting shadows down the dusty street, stabbing
shafts of golden light into dark doorways.

Wardo saw Wulf to the door of the "cleanest inn on Thorney," watched him
enter, and wheeled his horse. Back again then he rode, with no more than
a glance for the long-haired girls who leaned to him from windows, and
with a recklessness which sent the dogs and children flying. He turned
into the main street, back toward the marsh-ford, and galloped the
length of it until he reached a house which stood the third from the
end, next to a half-burnt ruin where cattle had been stalled, with a
narrow door in a blank wall which betrayed nothing.

Before this he flung his horse back upon its haunches, leaped lightfoot
to the ground, and hammered on the door. The wicket was opened a space
and closed; then the door was opened. He entered, and it closed after
him.

Two hours later Wulf, the son of Wulf, came down the street in the dim
twilight, on foot, walking with a swagger. Out of the saddle he was seen
to be short and stunted, with legs badly bowed. His breath proclaimed
loudly that he had stopped at sundry wine-shops on the way. He was
passing