at himself for an imaginative fool, and
hurried on his way.

The wood was almost passed; the trees were thin, and the steep of the
hill was merging into the level of the plain. Master Andrew could hear
the faint roar of the running tide. Nowhere along the river could a
light be seen. From wood to wood across the wide waterway all was a
black hollow, not even the yellow of the half-covered sands showing a
tinge of colour through the thick darkness. "A mirky night for a mirky
deed," whispered the young man. "Father Jerome hath chosen well." He
resumed his walk, turning north towards the cliff at Westbury. The
darkness and the sense of security had heightened his courage; he
stepped out boldly and without hesitation. All at once he was
conscious that some one was near him. Hardly had he realized this
presence when a hand was laid in a familiar fashion on his arm. "Thy
feet are swift in the good cause," said a voice; "thus do men step to
victory!"

Basil! Windybank felt uncomfortable at once. Had the fellow been
dogging his steps from the Tower? He moved more stealthily than the
night itself, and one never felt free of his presence.

The two walked on side by side, never exchanging another word; indeed
Windybank made no reply to Basil's remark. They came out on the
river-side path that ran from Newnham to Westbury around the great
horseshoe sweep of the river. The shallow wavelets of the advancing
tide were already lapping at the soft, red bank on their right. On
their left was a ditch; behind that, an embankment topped by a tall
hedge; beyond that, orchards and fields stretching away to forest and
hill. The two conspirators crept along in the shadow of the hedge.
Half a mile farther on was the rendezvous. A faint light coming from
the foam-topped water made the blackness near its margin seem less
intense, and presently Windybank saw three figures ahead of him
silhouetted against the stretch of river. He plucked Basil by the
sleeve, and the fanatic came to a dead stop instantly.

"Friends or foes?" whispered the young forester.

"No foe would walk so openly to our meeting-place," replied the other,
"and no friend should risk discovery so stupidly. I'll hurry after
them and teach them discretion."

The ex-monk crouched down and ran almost on all fours like a dog. The
pace at which he went in so strained a position opened Windybank's
eyes. "The fellow's more beast than man," he thought, "and his