“They will be within an hour, Father, but not before, since six good horses cannot be laid hands on in the dead of night, being stabled without the gates.  But what is this message of yours, and to whom does Hugh go?”

“To his Grace Edward the King, none less, Geoffrey de Cressi, with that which shall earn pardon for him and Dick the Archer, or so I believe.  As for what it is I may not tell you or any man.  It has to do with great matters of State that are for the King’s ear alone; and I charge you, every one, on your honour and your safety, to make no mention of this mission without these walls.  Do you swear, Geoffrey de Cressi, and you, his sons?”

Then one by one they swore to be secret as the grave; and Eve swore also, though of her he had sought no promise.  When this was finished Sir Andrew asked if any of his brothers accompanied Hugh, saying that if so they must arm.

“No,” answered Master de Cressi, “one of the family is enough to risk as well as four of our best servants.  My sons bide here with me, who may need their help, though they are not trained to arms.”

“Perhaps it is as well,” said Sir Andrew drily, “though were I their age—­well, let that be.  Now, son Hugh, before you eat do you and Eve come with me into the church.”

At these words Hugh flushed red with joy, and opened his lips to speak.

“Nay, nay,” broke in Sir Andrew, with a frown; “for a different purpose to that which is in your mind.  Man, is this a time for marrying and giving in marriage?  And if it were, could I marry you who are stained with new-shed blood?  ’Tis that you both may be absolved from the guilt of that blood and learn the penance which God decrees to you through the mouth of me, His unworthy minister, in payment of its shedding.  Thus you, son, may go forth upon your great adventure with a clean heart, and you, daughter, may await what shall befall with a quiet mind.  Say, are you willing?”

Now they bowed their heads and answered that they were, though Eve whispered to Hugh that she misdoubted her of this talk of penance.

“So do I,” he replied, beneath his breath, “but he is a merciful confessor and loves us.  From some it might be harder.”

They passed down the stairs, followed by Master de Cressi and his sons, into the entrance hall, where Grey Dick stood watching by the door.

“Whither go they?” he asked of Sir Andrew, “for their road is mine.”

“To confession at God’s altar,” answered the old priest.  “Do you come also, Richard?”

“Oh!” he replied, “I hoped it had been to breakfast.  As for confession I have naught upon my soul save that I shot too low at the Frenchman.”

“Bide where you are, O man of blood,” said Sir Andrew sternly:  “and pray that a better mood be given to you before it is too late.”

“Ay, Father,” he answered unabashed.  “I’ll pray, and it is as well that one should wait to watch the door lest you should all presently become men of blood against your will.”