Nicholas returned no answer, and his friend stood dumbfounded.  Surely that pale face and that emaciated form could not belong to the once sturdy companion, or—­and he noticed that the eyes were closed; or else—­and he trembled at the bare idea—­Nicholas Bury must be dead!

He put out his hand and shook it gently, and he was speedily rewarded by seeing his friend open his eyes.

“Lie still, Leo,” he commanded, addressing the badger.

The faithful animal, which had regarded the intruder with marked disfavour, rolled itself up again in obedience to the command, and remained in the corner watching the knight with glistening eyes.

“Nicholas,” repeated Crowleigh, for he had not yet been noticed.  Nicholas turned slowly round, as if his ears had not deceived him, but on seeing his friend and benefactor standing by his side, his face lighted up with pleasure, and he quickly arose.

“My good friend, Everard,” he exclaimed, as he warmly shook the proffered hand, “thou art indeed a stranger here.”

“Aye, I have a mission to thee,” he replied.

“A mission,” the hermit echoed.  Art thou, then, the bearer of ill-tidings to me?  Is my safety jeopardised, or what?  Tell me, Everard, let me know it all.  I have done no man evil that I wot of—­unless in these evil days it be wrong to visit the sick and the afflicted; but I am ready for aught, even though it were instant death.”

“Nay, Nicholas,” returned his friend, “thou art in a gloomy strain.  I am a messenger of peace; I bear good tidings to thee, not ill-news.  Thou must away with me at once.”

“I cannot go; but see! my lamp is out.  I must light it again.  You see how indifferent I am,” he apologetically exclaimed, “I even fall asleep over my prayers.”

“Ha!  I perceive thou art over-weary; take my advice for the once, and do not rise so soon, nor pray so long.”

“Ah, Everard, ’tis not that,” replied the holy man; “I have not been to my poor couch since yester morning.  I have been praying through the night for the speedy restoration of our holy Church.”

“And see, whilst thou hast been sleeping I have saved thy life,” interjected Everard; “but I must tell thee on my journey.  I would have thee accompany me back to Haddon.”

“My poor pets!” exclaimed the hermit sorrowfully, as he lifted up the stone; “they are all killed.”

“’Tis a case of death, I fear,” pursued Crowleigh, referring to the father’s illness.

“I fear it is,” replied the other, looking ruefully at his dead pets.  “Thou hast killed my companions, Everard.”

“Ugh! pretty companions, I trow,” said the knight, scornfully; “but we must hasten.  I will acquaint thee with the whys and wherefores as we go.  Nay, never mind the lamp, thou can’st say adieu to that.  Our horses are tethered to a tree below, and thou must shrive a friend who is at death’s door—­a priest.  I have ridden throughout the livelong day to fetch thee.  Art thou ready now?”