"Come! we must needs haste." "Why?" "Because we will follow in the procession to Canterbury. The horses are saddled. I have seen to that." "Yes, father." This I said like one in a dream, for while I had it in my mind that the journey to Canterbury would suit me well, seeing that we should be on our way to London, my mind was so occupied with other things that I paid but scant heed to his words. A little later we were on our way out of the town, a great crowd following the king, while a greater crowd prepared to remain in Dover, so as to take part in the carousing which had, been arranged. On the hill near I saw Dover Castle, which looked stately and grand in the smiling sunlight, while seaward the waters gleamed brightly, as though nature sought to harmonize with the gladness of the multitude. All around the people continued to cry "God save the king!" while guns boomed with a great, thundering noise, and bands of music played merry tunes. "Methinks, this is a great day, Roland," said my father, who rode close to my side. I did not reply, for my mind was full of the thought of the woman who lay in prison. "The king seemed pleased with you." "Ay," I replied, "I trust so." "Trust nothing, Roland." I gazed nervously around, fearing lest my father's words should be heard and reported to the king. "You need not fear to speak, Roland," said my father. "No attention is paid to us. Besides, there is such a noise that no man can hear you speak, save me, whose ear is close to your mouth. In truth had I a matter of secrecy to discuss I would desire no better place." I continued silent, first because there seemed nought to say, and second because I thought of other matters. "I have thought much of what you related to me last night," continued my father, "and I have concluded that you have forgotten to speak to me of many matters." In this my father spoke truly, for although I had spoken freely concerning my interview with old Solomon, I had said but little concerning the woman whose fate had become of so much interest. Why I had refrained from doing this I knew not, yet so it was. "I have told you all I know concerning the thing I went to seek," I replied. "Ay, that is so, Roland, and thou hast never told me a lie. But I am convinced of this: That old man never intended thee to die in that cavern." "No," I replied. "What is your reason for believing that?" "I have many reasons." "Then why did he leave me?" "To return after you had fasted two or three days, and when your strength would be so gone that he would be able to make his own terms with you." I had not thought of this before, and I wondered at my dullness, for there was sense in my father's surmise, and I fancied there might be truth in it. "I see gay doings ahead," said my father presently. "Ay," I replied, for I was thinking of the reception the king would meet in London.