Here he paused, as if listening.

“What dost thou say?  I give thee rest.  Let my son take the sword from thy ancestral hall, and wield it in the holy war in thy name.  Then thy vow will be fulfilled, and thou wilt cumber earth no longer.

“Well, we shall see!  But can I send him to that distant land?  He may suffer as I.

“No! no!  Son of my love!  It may not be.

“Ah, thou departest.  It is well.  Avaunt thee, poor ghost!  Avaunt thee.”

So the night sped away, and when the gates of the castle opened at sunrise, the palmer passed through them and took the road for Lewes.

We need hardly say that, in the course of the day after the ill-fated Roger had departed for Lewes, to bury his sorrows and his sins within the hallowed walls of the Priory of Saint Pancras, the Lady Sybil made a full revelation of all the circumstances of his visit to her husband, Sir Nicholas Harengod.

There was not a moment’s doubt in the mind of that worthy knight as to the proper course to be pursued.  Roger must be left to carry out his own decision—­as the most convenient to all parties concerned—­and the son must at once be brought home and acknowledged as the true heir of Walderne, cum Icklesham, cum Dene, and I wot not what else.  As for poor Drogo, he must be content with the patrimony of Sir Nicholas—­the manor of Harengod.

So Sir Nicholas first sought an interview with his brother-in-law, Roger, at the priory.  He found him on the point of being admitted to the novitiate, and then started post haste across the country—­northward for Kenilworth—­where he arrived in due course, and was soon closeted with the mighty earl, to whom he revealed the whole story of the resurrection of Sir Roger of Walderne.

It was indeed a resurrection.  At first the earl hardly credited its possibility; but anon with joy received it, and gave his full consent for Sir Nicholas to take Hubert away for a time, that he might make acquaintance with the home of his ancestors, and seek his father at Lewes.

Much more conversation passed between the knight and the earl, but we shall have occasion to develop its results as our narrative proceeds.

So we shall leave our readers to picture the delight and wonder of Hubert, the jealousy of Drogo, and much besides, while we go to Oxford to see Martin.

Chapter 7:  Martin’s First Day At Oxford.

It was a lovely morning in the Eastertide of 1256 when young Martin looked forth from the window of his hostel at Oxford on the quaint streets, the stately towers of the semi-monastic city.  He was bound, of course, as a dutiful son of Mother Church, to attend the early service at one of the thirteen churches, after which, still at a very early hour, he was invited to break his fast with the great Franciscan, Adam de Maresco, to whom his friend the chaplain had strongly commended him.  So he put on his scholar’s gown, and went to the finest church then existing in Oxford, the Abbey Church of Oseney.