"’Tis a child which hath been brought hither for our Prioress to tend." "Hath she no relatives here?" "Nay, I know not; but she is well with us," said the nun, looking at the child with affection. It was the first expression of softer feeling that had yet come into her face. The child returned her look with love and bright confidence. "Thou art happy here?" said Yolande. "Ay, truly am I," replied the girl; "now I know father will be safe." "And who is thy father, sweet child?" "He is a noble knight, but I may not tell his name," said the girl. "Dost thou know, holy sister?" said Yolande, unable to repress her natural curiosity. The nun looked a trifle surprised, as if not expecting such a breach of manners in so high-born a damsel, but she replied, as coldly as ever,-- "Nay, I know naught that passeth in the world. None who enter here have name, or kin on earth." Yolande shivered. It seemed like talking to a ghost. As her thirst was now assuaged, and none of the others would take any more--although Lord Woodville took an apple from the pretty child, and in doing so availed himself of the opportunity of slipping a gold coin on to the dish, the nun withdrew as silently as she came, and the girl accompanied her, giving another nod of friendly farewell to Ralph. "’Tis getting late, Lord Woodville, and I must be riding home," said Yolande. "Where my father hath gotten to, I know not; and as for my poor Breton, good lack!" and she broke into a merry laugh. They rode away from the peaceful vale, the long shadows of evening falling across the plain, and the chill mist of the marshland rising in white film around. They were a silent party. Lord Woodville was plunged in deep reverie. Yolande could not strike any sparks of wit out of Ralph, who worshipped her far too seriously to be quite at home and at his ease, and took in serious dudgeon the playful raillery with which his cousin treated him on the subject of the dark-eyed damsel. "You silly boy, you think you are fond of me; but when you reach the age of manhood, and are of an age to marry, the lady of your choice will be one who is now a girl of just that little one’s age. You mark my words." "And what do you call the right age to marry?" asked the crestfallen Ralph. "Oh, not before you are thirty or forty, or fifty or sixty. There! I’ll marry you when I am sixty. So now go and be happy, and grow as fast as you can; in wisdom, at least, for your body is big enough, good lack!" As they rode back into the more cultivated land they met parties of two or three of the expedition returning from the chase; and as they passed Arreton Church they fell in with Sir William Lisle, who had been looking for his daughter, accompanied by Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené, who was mounted on a fresh horse. "Marry, Sir Amand, where’s thy horse?" laughed Yolande. "Pardie, mademoiselle, zat I cannot tell. I left ’im in ze vase."[*] [*] "Vase," Anglicé "mud."