his
gown wet to the knees with the grasses.

"Ah? Well, it will make no difference," he said; and we resumed our
way.

As we climbed the last slope under the terraces of the house, I
caught sight of my father leaning by a balustrade high above us, at
the head of a double flight of broad stone steps, and splicing the
top joint of a trout-rod he had broken the day before. He must have
caught sight of us almost at the moment when we emerged from the
woods.

He showed no surprise at all. Only as I led my guests up the steps
he set down his work and, raising a hand, bent to them in a very
courteous welcome.

"Good morning, lad! And good morning to those you bring,
whencesoever they come."

"They come, sir," I answered "in Jo Pomery's ketch _Gauntlet_, I
believe from Italy; and with a message for you."

"My father turned his gaze from me to the spokesman at my elbow.
His eyebrows lifted with surprise and sudden pleasure.

"Hey?" he exclaimed. "Is it my old friend--"

But the other, before his name could be uttered, lifted a hand.

"My name is the Brother Basilio now, Sir John: no other am I
permitted to remember. The peace of God be with you, and upon your
house!"

"And with you, Brother Basilio, since you will have it so: and with
all your company! You bear a message for me? But first you must
break your fast." He turned to lead the way to the house.

"We have eaten already, Sir John. As soon as your leisure serves, we
would deliver our message."

My father called to Billy Priske--who hung in the rear of the monks--
bidding him fetch my uncle Gervase in from the stables to the State
Room, and so, without another word, motioned to his visitors to
follow. To this day I can hear the shuffle of their bare feet on the
steps and slabs of the terrace as they hurried after him to keep up
with his long strides.

In the great entrance-hall he paused to lift a bunch of rusty keys
off their hook, and, choosing the largest, unlocked the door of the
State Room. The lock had been kept well oiled, for Billy Priske
entered it twice daily; in the morning, to open a window or two, and
at sunset, to close them. But it is a fact that I had not crossed
its threshold a score of times in my life, though I ran by it, maybe,
as many times a day; nor (as I believe) had my father entered it for
years. Yet it was the noblest room in the house, in length
seventy-five feet, panelled high in dark oak and cedar and adorned
a