The man had been standing watching the little calvacade approach, but as it drew nearer he stepped back on to a more rugged piece of ground at the foot of the steep hill behind, and which was difficult for horses, being all broken and covered with gorse. Lord Woodville rode forward, motioning to the others to remain behind. Ralph could not help thinking he had seen that figure before. Where had he seen it?--he could not recollect. "Marry, Ralph, ’tis a bold hind; see how he scowls on the Captain. By St Bride, he hath broad shoulders, and bears himself as if of gentle blood. I would give a good deal to know what the Captain is saying to him. I shall ride nearer." But the Captain of the Wight heard the steps of her horse; he looked back with a stern glance, and said gravely,-- "Mistress Lisle, under your leave, I would say a few words alone." There was no help for it; with a pettish air, but not at all disconcerted, Yolande said her nag wanted to browse on that sweet bit of grass there, and returned to Ralph. After the interchange of a few words, the Captain rejoined the others, and the man disappeared into the tall furze behind the old thorn bush. "We’ve lost our heronshaw," said Mistress Yolande, pouting. "Nay, the varlets will bring the quarry in," said the Captain. "But what building have we here." "’Tis the nunnery of Appuldurcombe," said Yolande. "Marry, I am sore athirst. Prythee, let us go there, and ask the kind sister for a draught of ale or hippocras." "Right gladly, fair mistress," said Lord Woodville, and they cantered over the smooth turf towards the grey stone wall which surrounded the picturesque roofs and gables of the old Priory of Appuldurcombe, now a cell of the convent of the order of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, in the City of London. As they rode up, the chapel bell was tolling to vespers. "Marry, ’tis later than I thought," said Yolande. *CHAPTER XII.* *HOW THE COCKEREL FELT HE WAS BUT A COCKEREL.* The old Priory of Appuldurcombe was situated in a most lovely spot, nestling in thick woods whose brown and russet foliage climbed the steep sides of the lofty downs surrounding it; the high-pitched gable of the little chapel, and the quaintly-grouped pile of grey buildings, looked serene and peaceful in that sequestered nook amid the ever-lasting hills. Originally granted by the piety of stout Earl Richard de Redvers to his new foundation of Montsburg in Normandy, it was used as a cell for a prior and two monks to look after their farms of Appuldurcombe, Sandford, and Week. But, sharing the fate of other alien foundations, it was taken from them by Henry IV. and granted to the nuns of St Clare, without Aldgate, who eventually obtained a grant of it from the Monastery of Montsburg, and so possessed it until the dissolution of the monasteries.