Under the oaks and beeches whose gnarled and twisted arms overlapped the path the column bent its course; and as it wound along the narrow way, the shafts of sunlight, breaking through the leaves, rippled over the steel casquetels and trappings until it was as if a rivulet had suddenly gushed forth and was flowing down this forest by-path.

The Hermit’s Cell was tenantless.  The door had rotted from its fastenings and lay athwart the entrance.  The roof was fallen in.  Mould and rank vegetation choked the place.  Long since had its holy denizen come to the dark River and been lost in the Mists.

A little way beyond the hut was where Sir John and the Countess had been attacked.  There could be no missing it, for the turf on both sides of the path was torn and the bushes were crushed and broken.  A brief inspection proved that the Countess had been the quarry, for the assailants had not cared enough about De Bury to pursue him.  They had gone Northward, as the hoof marks showed, and springing back into saddle, De Lacy hurried on.  A quarter of a mile beyond, the tracks turned abruptly and struck off through the forest.  At length the trees grew thinner, and presently the highway lay before them, and the trail ended—­nor could they find it again.

“We will on to Kirkstall and its crafty Abbot,” De Lacy exclaimed.

“Surely you do not think he knows of this affair?” De Wilton asked.

“When it comes to priests in general and abbots in particular, I never think,” Aymer answered.  “It is their game, and few can play it with them and have a chance to win.  I prefer to fight them with my own weapons,” jerking his head toward the fifty men-at-arms.  “If the Abbot know aught of this business, it will do no hurt to let him see these honest followers of His Majesty.  It may loose his tongue.”

“It will take more than steel coats to make Aldam speak, if he be minded otherwise,” said De Wilton.

“Doubtless; but while we hold converse with him, Raynor Royk shall have the premises spied over.”

When they reached Kirkstall no porter was in the lodge, but the gates were open wide, and halting the column, the two Knights with their squires rode into the courtyard.  At the further end of the quadrangle a dozen horsemen were drawn up, and their leader, his foot in stirrup ready to mount, was having a last word with the Abbot.

Hearing their approach they turned quickly.

“Darby!” exclaimed De Wilton.  “Now what brings him here so early in the day?”

“Penance and absolution likely,” De Lacy answered scornfully.

“Well, I trust he has got them and feels more easy with the world.”

“My lord Abbot,” said Aymer, as they dismounted, “I am a trespasser a second time, and an ill-timed one I fear, for which I beg your kind indulgence—­and Lord Darby’s,” and he bowed to the latter.

“Nay, Sir Aymer de Lacy, you interrupt nothing,” Darby responded; “I was but making my adieu before pushing on to Pontefract.”