So he had no anticipation that the good father would say, "Don't
fight."
But when he approached the great door of the priory, with the
venerable figure of the patron saint bending over the archway, a
messenger--a lay brother--issued forth.
It was almost dark, but the man recognised Wilfred.
"Is it thou, Wilfred of Aescendune, in the flesh?"
"I am he."
"Then I am glad to see thee, for thus my limbs are saved the toil
of seeking thee, and my rheumatics make me dread the night air."
"Seeking me?"
"Yes, verily; the good prior desireth thee earnestly, and adjured
me to fetch thee without delay; and lo! Saint Cuthbert hath sent
thee."
What could the prior want of him? thought the lad; had he heard of
the quarrel, through young Eadwin, and did he disapprove of it?
At all events, he would be saved the trouble of many words; and he
entered.
He passed along the cloister, with its ceiling of carved wood and
its rude wooden crucifix at the end thereof; he looked out at the
little green square of grass, enclosed by the quadrangle, wherein
reposed in peace the monks of former generations. Once the thought
flashed over him, that a similar little grassy hillock might, ere a
few hours were over, be raised above his own earthly remains; but
that did not shake his purpose.
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