chapel-cloister lifted his head
and bayed in answer, as frantic figures fled across the court before
him. And over all lay the hot June sky, and round about the deep
peaceful woods.

A start was made at three o'clock.

Sir James was already in his saddle, as Chris ran out; an unfamiliar
figure in his plain priest's cloak and cap and great riding boots
beneath. A couple of grooms waited behind, and another held the monk's
horse. Margaret was on the steps, white and steadied by prayer; and the
chaplain stood behind with a strong look in his eyes as they met those
of his patron.

"Take care of her, father; take care of her. Her sister will be here
to-night, please God. Oh! God bless you, my dear! Pray for us all. Jesu
keep us all! Chris, are you mounted?"

Then they were off; and the white dust rose in clouds about them.

* * * * *

It was between eight and nine as they rode up the north bank of the
river from London Bridge to Charing.

It had been a terrible ride, with but few words between the two, and
long silences that were the worst of all; as, blotting out the rich
country and the deep woods and the meadows and heathery hills on either
side of the road through Surrey, visions moved and burned before them,
such as the King's vengeance had made possible to the imagination. From
far away across the Southwark fields Chris had seen the huddled
buildings of the City, the princely spire that marked them, and had
heard the sweet jangling of the thousand bells that told the Angelus;
but he had thought of little but of that high gateway under which they
must soon pass, where the pikes against the sky made palpable the
horrors of his thought. He had given one swift glance up as he went
beneath; and then his heart sickened as they went on, past the houses
and St. Thomas's chapel with gleams of the river seen beneath. Then as
he looked his breath came sharp; far down there eastwards, seen for a
moment, rose up the sombre towers where Ralph lay, and the saints had
suffered.

The old Religious Houses, stretching in a splendid line upwards, from
the Augustinian priory near the river-bank, along the stream that flowed
down from Ludgate, caught the last rays of sunlight high against the
rich sky as the riders went along towards Charing between the
sedge-brinked tide and the slope of grass on their right; and the monk's
sorrowful heart was overlaid again with sorrow as he looked at them,
empty