"What vase?" said the astonished Yolande. "It must be a mighty big one if it can hold a horse." "_Foi de mon ordre!_ no; it would sallow ’im as easy as anyzing, and me too, ’ad I been ze fool to stop on ’im." "Good lack! a vase swallow a horse and man? The poor man’s lost his wits!" cried Yolande, while Ralph looked very much astonished, and began to laugh. "Vat you go for to laugh, young man?" said the disconcerted and puzzled Breton. "Is zere anyzing drole in ze vase svalloving a man?" "Why, beshrew me, there is!" said old Sir William Lisle. "Thou hast got hold of the wrong word; ’tis mud thou meanest, not a vase. Good lack! good lack! how these munseers do show their ignorance." As Yolande and her father were not going back to Carisbrooke Castle, they took leave of their noble host, and rode away across the downs to Briddlesford, which lay at the head of the long winding creek which flowed in from the Solent, while the others pursued their way back to the castle. The Captain of the Wight seemed plunged into a deeper reverie than ever, and scarcely spoke one word the whole way back. Ralph’s mind was full of the tournament, and of the Abbot’s promise to let him have money enough to equip himself as became an aspirant to chivalry. As soon as he had an opportunity, he took Maurice Woodville and Dicky Cheke aside and told them of his good fortune. "My faith, Lisle, you are in luck. How much will he give you?" "I don’t know; but he said he would tell old Langstoke to let me have what I wanted." "Well, an I were you, I’d strike while the iron is hot. I should get leave from old Jack-in-Harness to go down to-night, and lose no time. There’s only six days before the Feast of St Michael," said Maurice Woodville. "Ay, so should I," said Dicky Cheke. "And, I say, Lisle, ask him to let us go too. We can help you; you’re such a simpleton, any chapman can cheat you. You big fellows always are stupid and easily overreached." Giving Dicky Cheke a tweak of the nose, which caused that young gentleman to rush after him as he left the room, and kick violently against the door, which Ralph prudently shut, with happy promptitude, behind him, Master Lisle went off to look for Sir John Trenchard. He tapped at the door of the knight’s apartments, and hearing a voice say "Come in," he opened the door, and found Bowerman reclining on a couch, his head bandaged and his eyes closed. He was alone. "Who’s that?" said the wounded page. "Oh, Bowerman, I am grievous sad to see you look in such parlous case," said Ralph, his conscience pricking him for not having inquired after, or been to see, his wounded comrade before. At the sound of Ralph’s voice, Bowerman’s face flushed up; and in a voice whose tones expressed concentrated hate, he said,-- "You fiend you! who asked you to come here?" "Well, Bowerman, I don’t see why you should bear me such ill-will. ’Twas not my fault you met with your mishap."