“Husband!”--exclaimed the palmer with a faint shriek. He turned aside. “Good God!--what a return! My own halls cast me forth. My wife’s pillow refuses to give rest to my wearied head! Sir William is a stranger in Haigh! Would that the report had been true. Yet now I will dare the worst.” He replaced his cowl. “Where is Sir Osmund?” “He is now a hunting, and has confined my mother to an apartment where none can visit her. He struck me wantonly, but I shall yet repay him for my mother’s wrongs.” “Couldst thou conduct me to thy mother, to give her holy comfort?” “Thank thee, heaven thank thee! I know a secret passage to the picture gallery, where she is now in durance. All the retainers keep to their duties, and they love me for my father’s sake. They would not inform Sir Osmund. Come on, holy father, the brow of the hill is soon passed!” They hastened their steps, and soon arrived at the hall. “There my mother stands at the window.” The palmer gave a quick glance upwards, in the direction, and then turned away. The boys took each a hand, and led him to the left tower, where was a small entrance, communicating by a long and intricate passage with the staircase which led to the gallery. Before them, a few of Sir Osmund’s men were lying, with their faces, broad and bluff, turned upwards. They were sunning themselves, in imitation of the cattle in the park, and, certainly, there was no reason why they should not follow such an excellent example, especially for kindred’s sake. Their large eyes were shut, but had just as much expression as when they were open. Their mouth, however, the use of which they were not altogether so lazy as to abandon, was stretched out, covering their cans of ale, which, by no common strength of suction, they were fast emptying. Their breasts were heaving with the zeal of the application, and the delight of the fermentation. At length a pause was made. They turned to each other. They spoke not by words, and yet their thick, ruddy lips, bedewed with the liquor, were very expressive. A loud laugh followed, which was feelingly responded to, and prolonged by, the lowing oxen. They looked round upon the holy palmer, as his steps were heard. “Ho!--ho! take a cup,” exclaimed one of them. “Drink on Sir William’s birth-day, a long health to his ghost! Here,” and he thrust an empty cup into the palmer’s hand. For a moment the holy man’s cowl was raised from his flashing eyes, as if to make some discovery, and his arm was stretched forth from the cloak in which he was so closely muffled, with the hand clenched, and the veins almost leaping through the thin dried skin which covered them. The next moment, he courteously declined the Welshman’s proffer. But his cheek was deadly pale, and a livid hue flitted over his lips. The elder boy started forward, and grasped one of the short swords lying naked beside the men, and, like their masters, sunning themselves.