and success in their craft, and hung up
their poor offerings for the holy saint's honour.

"Ay, that it is," said Des Bois. "Now will we find its guardian at his
vigils."

He oped with ease the latch of the lowly door of the hut, and we found,
indeed, no saint at matins or prime, but only the priest of St.
Apolline, curled on his wood settle in honest slumber, and snoring
lustily withal.

Des Bois gazed at him with a merry smile, and presently tweaked him
merrily by the ear, crying out--

"Up, good hog! up, griskin-knave! up, lubber! and provide meet
entertainment for honest men."

"Ralf! Ralf!" sang out the priest in alarm, as he leapt from his poor
couch. "What make you here at this hour of night?"

"Often hast thou," answered Des Bois, "with sage reproof bid me turn to
an honest and a sober life, and now I have turned to the side of the
holy saints. Lo! I have cut my ropes this night, and am free again.
Free, that is to say, if thou wilt hide me for a season, and do thy good
offices for Nigel here, who indeed hath saved me, as I him."

The good priest grasped his hand, and I thought he wept, as though Des
Bois' words conveyed more than I could understand. The two men drew
aside together and whispered seriously for a time.

But I was glad, before they ceased, to wash away the blood from my
wounds, and all the dust and sweat of my capture and escape. And after
much washing in the brook, I felt well-nigh a new man; and sitting down
at the priest's rough board, we next refreshed ourselves with such store
as the good man had. And after we had eaten, Des Bois, whose name I now
knew was Ralf, began to explain the plan by means of which I was still
to journey safely to Normandy.

"Hark you, good Nigel," said Ralf. "I have discovered a rare likeness
betwixt you and our Father, this dear Augustine. Indeed, saving for the
marks of time, ye might be brothers of one birth. Now, it likes me not
to cast away prodigally such rare aid given by Mother Nature to our
designs. So, look you, you shall journey to Normandy as Father
Augustine, priest of St. Apolline's in Guernsey, while Father Augustine
and I, dear yoke-fellows of old, shall betake ourselves, as once or
twice before, to the nether-world for a season."

Father Augustine smiled his assent to the scheme, as I asked hastily--

"But, even so, how will the knaves yonder let me pass?"

Ralf smiled as he replied, "Ay, they will not molest thee. Augustine
hath a gift