Other folk from the cliff had seen the leper, and Yeoland could not claim to have monopolised the gentleman. One of Fulviac’s fellows had seen him one morning near the cliff, gliding like a grey ghost among the pines. Another had marked him creeping swiftly away through the twilight. It was a superstitious age and a superstitious region. The figure in grey seemed to haunt the place, with the occasional and mournful sounding of its bell. Men began to gossip, as the ignorant always will. Fulviac himself grew uneasy for more material reasons, and contemplated the test of a clothyard shaft or a bolt upon the leper’s body. The man might be a spy, and if the bolt missed its mark it would at least serve as a sinister hint to this troublesome apparition. It was then that Yeoland took alarm into her woman’s heart. There was great likelihood of the man ending his days under the tree with a shaft sticking fast between his shoulders. Though he was something of a madman, she did not relish such a prospect. The day after she had heard the bell at midnight near the stair she haunted the forest like a pixie, keeping constant watch between the cliff and the forest grave. Fulviac had ridden out on a plundering venture, and she was free of him for the day. It was not till evening that she heard the faint signal of the bell, creeping down through the gold-webbed boughs like the sound of a distant angelus. The sound flew from the north, and beckoned her towards the forest grave. Fearful of being caught, she followed it as fast as her feet could carry her, while the deepening clamour led her on. Presently she called the man by name as she ran. His grey frock and cowl came dimly through the trees. "At last you are merciful," was his greeting. She stood still and twisted her gown restlessly between her two hands. Anarchy showed in her face; fear, reason, and desire were calling to her heart. The intangible touch of the man’s soul threw her being into chaos. She feared greatly for him, stood still, and could say nothing. Flavian put his cowl back, and stood aloof from her, looking in her face. "Seemingly we are both embarrassed," he said. She made a petulant little gesture. He forestalled her in speech. "It is best to be frank when life runs deep. I will speak the truth to you, and you may treat me as you will." Yeoland leant against a tree, and began to pull away the brittle scales of the bark. "If you stay here longer, messire----" she began. "Well, madame, what then?" "You will be shot like a dog; you are suspected; they are going to try your leper’s gown with a crossbow bolt." The man smiled optimistically. "And you came to tell me this?" "Yes." "I thank you." The wind moved through the trees; a fir-cone came pattering through the branches and fell at their feet. On the cliff a horn blared; its throaty cry came echoing faintly through the trees.