He had always supposed that she would be a nun, and had acquiesced in it in a cynical sort of way; but he was going to acquiesce no longer now.  Of course she would sob, but equally of course she would not dare to resist.

He called Morris up to him presently as they emerged from one of the bridle paths on to a kind of lane where two could ride abreast.  The servant had seemed oddly silent that morning.

“We are going to Rusper,” said Ralph.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mistress Margaret is there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She will come away with us.  I may have to send you on to Overfield with her.  You must find a horse for her somehow.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was silence between the two for a minute or two.  Mr. Morris had answered with as much composure as if he had been told to brush a coat.  Ralph began to wonder what he really felt.

“What do you think of all this, Morris?” he asked in a moment or two.

The servant was silent, till Ralph glanced at him impatiently.

“It is not for me to have an opinion, sir,” said Mr Morris.

Ralph gave a very short laugh.

“You haven’t heard what I have,” he said, “or you would soon have an opinion.”

“Yes, sir,” said Morris as impassively as before.

“I tell you—­” and then Ralph broke off, and rode on silent and moody.  Mr. Morris gradually let his horse fall back behind his master.

* * * * *

They began to come towards Rusper as the evening drew in, by a bridle path that led from the west, and on arriving at the village found that they had overshot their mark, and ought to have turned sooner.  The nunnery, a man told them, was a mile away to the south-west.  Ralph made a few enquiries, and learnt that it was a smallish house, and that it was scarcely likely that room could be found for his party of four; so he left Morris to make enquiries for lodgings in the village, and himself rode on alone to the nunnery, past the church and the timberhouses.

It was a bad road, and his tired horse had to pick his way very slowly, so that it was nearly dark before he came to his destination, and the pointed roofs rose before him against the faintly luminous western sky.  There were lights in one or two windows as he came up that looked warm and homely in the chill darkness; and as he sat on his horse listening to the jangle of the bell within, just a breath of doubtfulness touched his heart for a moment as he thought of the peaceful home-life that lay packed within those walls, and of the errand on which he had come.

But the memory of the tales he had heard, haunted him still; and he spoke in a harsh voice as the shutter slid back, and a little criss-crossed square of light appeared in the black doorway.

“I am one of the King’s Visitors,” he said.  “Let my Lady Abbess know I am here.  I must speak with her.”