my footsteps she woke up and saw me.

"Strange," she said, "I slept at my prayers who did so little last
night, as has become a habit with me when you are out a-fishing, for
which God forgive me, and dreamed that there was some trouble forward.
Scold me not, Hubert, for when the sea has taken the father and two
sons, it is scarcely wonderful that I should be fearful for the last of
my blood. Help me to rise, Hubert, for this water seems to gather in my
limbs and makes them heavy. One day, the leech says, it will get to the
heart and then all will be over."

I obeyed, first kissing her on the brow, and when she was seated in her
armed chair by the table, I said,

"You dream too well, Mother. There is trouble. Hark! St. Clement's
bells are talking of it. The French come to visit Hastings. I know for I
sailed through their fleet just after dawn."

"Is it so?" she asked quietly. "I feared worse. I feared lest the dream
meant that you had gone to join your brothers in the deep. Well, the
French are not here yet, as thank God you are. So eat and drink, for we
of England fight best on full bellies."

Again I obeyed who was very hungry after that long night and needed food
and ale, and as I swallowed them we heard the sound of folk shouting and
running.

"You are in haste, Hubert, to join the others on the quay and send
a Frenchman or two to hell with that big bow of yours?" she said
inquiringly.

"Nay," I answered, "I am in haste to get you out of this town, which I
fear may be burnt. There is a certain cave up yonder by the Minnes Rock
where I think you might lie safe, Mother."

"It has come down to me from my fathers, Hubert, that it was never the
fashion of the women of the north to keep their men to shield them when
duty called them otherwhere. I am helpless in my limbs and heavy, and
cannot climb, or be borne up yonder hill to any cave. Here I stop where
I have dwelt these five-and-forty years, to live or die as God pleases.
Get you to your duty, man. Stay. Call those wenches and bid them fly
inland to their folk, out Burwash way. They are young and fleet of foot,
and no Frenchman will catch them."

I summoned the girls who were staring, white-faced, from the attic
window-place. In three minutes they were gone, though it is true that
one of them, the braver, wished to bide with her mistress.

I watched them start up the street with other fugitives who were pouring
out of Hastings, and came back to my mother. A