Woodville was about to follow, but Sir Simeon of Roydon, who had by this time regained his saddle, thrust himself in the way, saying, in a fierce and bitter tone--"Richard of Woodville, I shall remember this!" "And I shall not forget it, Simeon of Roydon," replied the other, hardly able to refrain from punishing him on the spot. "Get thee hence! Thou hast done mischief enough!" The knight was about to reply; but a shout of execration burst from the people, and, at the same moment, a stone, flung from an unseen hand, struck him on the face, cutting his cheek severely, and shaking him in the saddle. His companions, alarmed at what they had done, had already ridden on; and, seeing that he was likely to fare ill in the hands of the crowd, Roydon put spurs to his horse, and galloped after them, muttering curses as he went. Richard of Woodville soon overtook the little party which was hurrying on with the injured man to the lodge of the monastery, and found the poor girl weeping bitterly. "Alas! noble sir!" she said, as soon as she saw him, "he is dead! He does not speak!--his head falls back!" "I trust not--I trust not!" answered Woodville. "He is but stunned, probably, by the blow, and will soon recover." She shook her head mournfully; and the next moment, one of the young men, who had taken up the old man's cithern, stepped forward before the rest, and rang the bell at the gate of the nunnery. It was opened instantly, and Woodville briefly explained to the porter what was the matter. "Bring him in here," said the old man; "we will get help. The good prioress is skilful at such things, and brother Martin still more so; and he is nearest, for the monk's lodging is only just below there. Let one of the men run down and ask for brother Martin." In the meantime, the old minstrel was brought in, and laid upon the pallet in the porter's room; and the news of the accident having spread, the lodge was speedily filled with nuns, having their veils down, all eagerly inquiring what had happened. The prioress and brother Martin appeared at the same moment; and, in answer to their questions, Woodville explained the facts of the case; for the poor girl, overwhelmed with grief, was kneeling by her old companion's side, and holding a small ebony cross which she wore round her neck to his motionless lips. "Give us room, my child--give us room!" said brother Martin, putting his hand kindly on her shoulder; and, having obtained access to the pallet, he and the prioress proceeded to examine what injuries the poor old man had received. Their search was short, however; for, after feeling the back of the head with his hand, and then putting his fingers on the pulse, the good monk turned round, with a grave countenance, saying, "God have mercy on his soul; for to Him has it gone."