delusion. He went with determined step,
and stood on the indicated spot.

"He is gone. He fled before thee. The omen is good. Thou shalt
deliver thy sire--let us pray together."

Sire and son knelt until the first note of the matin song just
before daybreak (it was the month of May) broke the utterance of
the father and, we fear we must own it, the sleep of the son.

Domine labia mea aperies
Et os meum annuntiabit laudem Tuam.

The sombre-robed monks were in the choir, the organ rolling out its
deep notes in accompaniment to the plain song of the Venite
exultemus, which then, as now, preceded the psalms for the day.
Then came the hymn:

Lo night and clouds and darkness wrap
The world in dark array;
The morning dawns, the sun breaks in,
Hence, hence, ye shades--away {16}!

"Come, Hubert, dear son, worthy of thy sainted mother. We will
praise Him, too, for He has lifted the darkness from my heart."

Chapter 9: The Other Side Of The Picture.

The young scion of the house of Herstmonceux led Martin a few steps
down the lane opposite Saint Mary's Church, until they came to the
vaulted doorway of a house of some pretensions. Its walls were
thick, its windows deep set and narrow. Dull in external
appearance, it did not seem to be so within, for sounds of riotous
mirth proceeded from many a window left open for admittance of air.
The great door was shut, but a little wicket was on the latch, and
Ralph de Monceux opened it, saying:

"Come and do me the honour of a short visit, and give me the latest
news from dear old Sussex."

"What place is this?" replied Martin.

"Beef Halt, so called because of the hecatombs of oxen we consume."

Martin smiled.

"What is the real name?"

"It should be 'Ape Hall,' for here we ape men of learning, whereas
little is done but drinking, dicing, and fighting. But you will
find our neighbours in the next street have monopolised that title,
with yet stronger claims."

"But what do the outsiders call you?"

"Saint Dymas' Halt, since we never pay our debts. But the world
calls it Le Oriole {17} Hostel. A better name just now is
'Liberty Hall,' for we all do just as we like. There is no king in
Israel."

So speaking, he lifted the latch, and saluted a gigantic porter:

"Holloa, Magog! hast thou digested the Woodstock deer yet?"

"Not so loud, my young sir. We may be heard." He paused, but put
his hand knowingly to the neck just under the left ear.

"Pshaw, he that i