d think of looking
for me, and the snow would hide every trace of my path. So I made
no delay, but took off my byrnie and garments. There was a pool on
the floor where I stood, for it was true enough that I had been ice
covered. Then I put on a rough warm brown frock with a cord round
the waist, so that I looked like a lay brother at Glastonbury, and
all the while I waxed more and more sleepy with the comfort of the
place. But I wiped my arms carefully while the old priest was busy
with a cauldron over the fire, and we were ready at the same time.

Then I had a meal of some sort of stew that seemed the best I ever
tasted, and a long draught of good mead, while the host looked on
in grave content. And then he spread a heap of dry seaweed in a
corner near the fire, and blessed me and bid me sleep. Nor did I
need a second bidding, and I do not think that I can have stirred
from the time that I lay down to the moment when I woke with a
feeling on me that it was late in the daylight.

So it was, and I looked round for my kind host, but he was not to
be seen. Outside the wind was still strong, but not what it had
been, for the gale was sinking suddenly as it rose, and into the
one little window the sun shone brightly enough now and then as the
clouds fled across it. There was a bright fire on the hearth, and
over it hung a cauldron, whence steam rose merrily, and it was
plain that my friend of last night was not far off, so I lay still
and waited his return.

Then my eyes fell on my clothes and arms as they hung from pegs in
the walls over against me, and it seemed as if the steel of mail
and helm and sword had been newly burnished. Then I saw also that a
rent in my tunic, made when my horse fell, had been carefully
mended, and that no speck of the dust and mire I had gathered on my
garments from collar to hose was left. All had been tended as
carefully as if I had been at home, and I saw Elfrida's little
brooch shining where I had pinned it.

That took me back to Glastonbury in a moment, but I had to count
before I could be sure that it was but a matter of hours since I
took that gift in the orchard, rather than of months. And I
wondered if Owen knew yet that I was lost, or if my men sought me
still. Then my mind went to Evan, the chapman outlaw, and I thought
that by this time he would have given me up, and would be far away
by now, beyond the reach of Thorgils and his wrath.

Now the seaward door opened, and a swirl