"Well that is somewhat, certes, but ’tis a quaint tale. Who could they be who would attack thee, do thee no harm, take no gold from thee, or strip thee of thy rich poignard and gaudy dress? For I see they have left thee thy purse and gold pieces." "Nay, my lord, I know not; but I can show thee the place to-morrow, an thou wilt ride thither." "What was the man like who captured you? Didst thou see his face?" "Nay, my lord, for he ever came between me and the moon; but he was of marvellous strength, and of a wondrous bigness; and he spoke like one in authority, and of gentle birth and breeding." "Well, ’tis a strange adventure, in sooth, and we will take thought for it to-morrow. Perchance thou mayest find the missive in thy saddle housings, or in thy dress, as thou retirest to sleep. But it groweth late; get thee now to thy rest. I shall need thee to-morrow." So saying, Lord Woodville nodded kindly to the boy, as a sign for him to retire, and Ralph left the room, glad enough to have escaped so easily, marvelling more than ever whether what had happened had really been a dream. Meanwhile the Captain of the Wight stood musing before his fire, for there was now need for a fire, since the season was drawing on, and it was near the end of September, while the thick stone walls of the strong building were damp and cold. Presently he went to his desk, pressed a spring, and out of a drawer at the side he took a little scented leathern case. Opening this, he took out two very faded flowers, a long lock of wavy soft brown hair, and a golden heart. He gazed at the silent relics, his lips moved, and he crossed himself devoutly. He then, after pressing them to his lips, put them back in the case, shut the case up, and replaced it in the drawer, which he carefully fastened again. This done, with a heavy sigh he stepped across to a _prie dieu_, and devoutly kneeling before a richly-carved crucifix, he remained absorbed in prayer. When he rose up, his face looked white and haggard. Before retiring to rest, he drew aside the curtain over his door, opened it, and called to the archer on guard to pass the word to the man who relieved him, to usher, without question, any monk who should come to him in the morning. When Ralph awoke next morning, the events of the previous night seemed more than ever like a dream. The commonplace realities of everyday life, the bright morning sun, the boyish chaff of his companions, and the decisive tone of Tom o’ Kingston as he put them through their exercises, seemed so utterly out of keeping with the romantic adventure of the night before. Dicky Cheke seemed somewhat crestfallen this morning, and he and Maurice Woodville had each a rather swollen cheek and lip, while Willie Newenhall was decidedly puffy and red about the eye. Even Bowerman showed signs of the manful handling given him by Ralph, who had almost forgotten the scuffle, in the greater excitement that had followed.