“And Sir Aymer knows he is ever welcome at Kirkstall, both on his own account and because he is of the Household of the royal Richard,” the Abbot answered easily; “and I trust His Majesty and his gracious consort are in the best of health.”

“We left them at daybreak much distressed over a most dastardly outrage perpetrated upon the Countess of Clare and Sir John de Bury,” said Aymer abruptly, watching the monk’s face—­but all he saw there was blank amazement.

“Holy Mother! my son, what do you mean?” he cried.

“That they were set upon last evening near the Hermit’s Cell by a band of cut-throats; Sir John all but murdered, and the Countess carried off.”

The Cistercian raised his arms in horrified surprise.

“Incroyable!  Incroyable!” he exclaimed.

And Lord Darby began to swear copiously in French.

“What were the facts, and what has been done for rescue?” the Abbot asked.

Briefly De Lacy told of the riderless horse and the finding of Sir John de Bury.  Of the story revealed by De Bury’s finger and head in answer to the King’s questioning and the fact that a hundred men-at-arms had been searching the country since the late evening of yesterday, and particularly as to Flat-Nose having led the assailants, he was most careful to say not a word.

When he had finished, Lord Darby went off again in a storm of fierce imprecation; this time, however, in good Anglo-Saxon.  And the Abbot was seemingly so stunned by Aymer’s recital that he did not note the irreverence of his lordship, who was let free to curse away to his heart’s content until brought up by De Wilton.

“Take a fresh start, Darby; you are repeating yourself.  Change off again into French.”

Darby turned upon the young Knight with a gesture of sharp surprise.

“None but a weakling could hear Sir Aymer’s tale without a rush of hot resentment,” he exclaimed.

“By the Rood!  I observed only a rush of oaths,” Sir Ralph laughed.

Darby’s quick anger flamed up; and jerking off his riding gauntlet he flung it at De Wilton’s face.  But the Abbot dexterously caught the glove.

“For shame, Lord Darby, for shame!” he said, “that you, a man in life’s full prime, should so far forget your knighthood over a bit of innocent banter.  Nor may you, Sir Ralph de Wilton, accept the gage.  This is holy ground; dedicated to the worship of the Humble One; and I charge you both, by your vows of humility, to let this matter end here and not to carry it beyond yonder gates.  Have I your promise, my lord?”

“If Sir Ralph de Wilton be willing, I am content.  Doubtless I was hasty,” Darby answered with well-assumed frankness, his passion quickly curbed.

“And you, Sir Ralph?” the Abbot queried.

“Am content, even as Lord Darby.  I have no cause for quarrel,” De Wilton replied indifferently.

Darby bowed curtly in acknowledgment; then sprang into saddle.