"My hurt is nothing," replied the priest, contemptuously waving his hand as though to thrust the idea aside. "’Tis true it is the first time I have received actual violence at their hands, but I care nothing for that. But my poor people have not, I fear, my hope in the future, and upon them the stripes fall with a deadly sting that toucheth me not. You say you fear ’tis on your account that these things have been done. Regard it not. Perchance ’tis the spark that setteth alight the fire to make us free. I would though, Sir Squire, that thou wouldst throw in thy lot with us, for ’tis a heavy thing for a priest, untutored in the art of war, to lead the people he loveth to what may be defeat and destruction. If thou dost feel thy responsibility for the night’s violence--fling thy sword into the balance, and thou wilt have paid back thy debt in full." "My hands are tied," replied Edgar, shaking his head. "My master there hath first claim upon my services, and until he hath been put in a place of safety I dare think of naught else." "I will see to his welfare in a place of safety," exclaimed the priest. "Higher up the mountains I know several such places, and, tended by one or two of our folk, he will mend rapidly and well." "Nay, I must take him back to his kinsfolk," replied Edgar decidedly. "Even then ’tis doubtful whether he will give me permission to ride back hither to engage in a private war on the side of a people at war with my countrymen. With all my heart I desire thy success and the deliverance of thy people, good father, but my duty is elsewhere. Press me not, I beg, but let me on." The priest inclined his head. "Be it so," he said sadly. "Thou art still a friend though thou canst not, or wilt not, stand shoulder to shoulder with me in the conflict. Thou shall return as quickly as my help can compass it. We will not talk more of this matter; but let me see to thy master. A happy man is he to have won such unswerving loyalty." With a touch as light and gentle as that of a woman, the priest tended the sick knight. His mind yet wandered, but he seemed to be easier than when Edgar and Peter had first entered his chamber in the donjon of Ruthènes. By some subtle means he seemed to know that he was now in friendly hands, and had grown more restful and contented. For two days Edgar remained at the cave watching over Sir John. At the end of that time the priest pronounced the knight well enough to travel, and within a few hours a horse and cart were ready waiting in the road at the point nearest to the mountain refuge.