ets, and as if he might touch
them if he would, yet were their images often before his mind's eye; and
yet, as time wore, not so often, nor so troublously; and forsooth both to
those about him and to himself, he seemed as a man well healed of his
melancholy mood.

Now they left that fourth stead, and sailed over the seas and came to a
fifth, a very great and fair city, which they had made more than seven
months from Langton on Holm; and by this time was Walter taking heed and
joyance in such things as were toward in that fair city, so far from his
kindred, and especially he looked on the fair women there, and desired
them, and loved them; but lightly, as befalleth young men.

Now this was the last country whereto the Katherine was boun; so there
they abode some ten months in daily chaffer, and in pleasuring them in
beholding all that there was of rare and goodly, and making merry with
the merchants and the towns-folk, and the country-folk beyond the gates,
and Walter was grown as busy and gay as a strong young man is like to be,
and was as one who would fain be of some account amongst his own folk.

But at the end of this while, it befell on a day, as he was leaving his
hostel for his booth in the market, and had the door in his hand, there
stood before him three mariners in the guise of his own country, and with
them was one of clerkly aspect, whom he knew at once for his father's
scrivener, Arnold Penstrong by name; and when Walter saw him his heart
failed him and he cried out: "Arnold, what tidings? Is all well with the
folk at Langton?"

Said Arnold: "Evil tidings are come with me; matters are ill with thy
folk; for I may not hide that thy father, Bartholomew Golden, is dead,
God rest his soul."

At that word it was to Walter as if all that trouble which but now had
sat so light upon him, was once again fresh and heavy, and that his past
life of the last few months had never been; and it was to him as if he
saw his father lying dead on his bed, and heard the folk lamenting about
the house. He held his peace awhile, and then he said in a voice as of
an angry man:

"What, Arnold! and did he die in his bed, or how? for he was neither old
nor ailing when we parted."

Said Arnold: "Yea, in his bed he died: but first he was somewhat sword-
bitten."

"Yea, and how?" quoth Walter.

Said Arnold: "When thou wert gone, in a few days' wearing, thy father
sent thy wife out of his house back to her kindred of the Red