“God forgive me for feeling merry at times. Well, sister, I stay on in Gawdy Town, as you know, to wait for news, and to watch for the men who will come over the sea. Old John Falconer is our watchdog in the Forest. The Blounts and the Ropers are with us; also a dozen more. We ought to muster three hundred men when the day comes. The Flemming is a jewel. His pack mules have smuggled war gear and stores into the Forest. There are three suits of armor, besides bills and salets and jacks hidden in our cellar under the south tower. There is a big beam, too, in the sluice ditch to throw across the gap in the trestle bridge.” He lay back against the tree, thinking deeply. “This Father Jude on the Black Moor is a close-mouthed old worthy. He is a man who asks no questions, and there is money to be made by such people; a fellow who can mind his own business is worth his wage. There is not a wilder place in the Forest. You will lodge there in the pilgrim’s house; the Benedictines of Paradise are bound to feed and lodge any traveler who passes that way. Besides, Father Jude is one of us; the man has some bitter grudge against the Lord of Troy.” She looked at him questioningly. “And I am a pilgrim.” “Under a vow.” “And how shall I serve you, on the top of a moor? It seems foolishness.” “If a man goes to shrive himself or to pray at a holy place, can folk quarrel with him? That butcher villain of a Vance has his spies everywhere. A bird does not fly straight to its nest when a cat is about.” “True.” “And, sister, it would be well if you could steal your way to Woodmere, and see with your own eyes that things are as old Falconer and the Flemming say they are. The cellar trap is hidden under a pile of loose stones; a stout stake through the ring will raise it.” “I could find my way to Woodmere in the dark.” “What a wench you are for wandering! You have that money safely? I might have my purse cut in Gawdy. You must play Jew.” She put her hand to her bosom. “It is here.” They talked awhile of all that was in their hearts and of the great adventure that lay before them. Mellis was as serious as he was gay; his flippancy increased as the time slipped by. “I shall have a tale to spin, oh false woman who passed as my sister! I am a Jack without a Jill.” Yet his eyes were sad. A gradual melancholy took hold of him. “Kiss me, child; we must be parting. Keep a brave heart.” She kissed him with sudden tenderness. “God guard you, my brother.” “Oh, I have a cat’s lives!” He jumped up and went to unfasten her nag. “Remember, this good priest will ask no questions. He is a kind soul, and will swear to any lie, so they tell me. Up with you, sweetheart.” He strapped on the saddle-bags, helped her to mount, and led her horse out of the wood. There was not a soul to be seen on the road, and still he seemed loth to leave her. “I will go with you a little way.” She looked at him dearly.