Two days later, he set out alone to join King Richard, going first to Southampton, thence to take ship for France. At his house door Katherine wept on his bosom, and held him to her as strongly as she might, that at last he had to burst from her by main force. Then she clung gasping and nigh fainting to the door-post, and had no strength to wave him farewell. The children ran after him, crying, ‘Father, father,’ in shrill misery. Three times he turned back and took them up in his arms and blessed and kissed them, before he could drag himself away. He did not dare to look back down the forest pathway to his wife upon the threshold of the house, but he said to himself crazily, ‘For the Lord is mindful of His own; He remembereth His servants.’ Katherine fell in a swoon across the doorway. The children thought she was dead, and knelt round the senseless body, screaming in their desolation. * * * * * Evil things happened in the year that followed, for there befell a great feud between Earl Ranulf and William of Beeston. One winter’s night William of Beeston’s men came down by Hart Hill, and they ravished as far as they dared up to Earl Ranulf’s castle, and they burnt Thomas the Freeman’s house, and slew his wife and children, therein showing themselves more like beasts than Christian men. II I remember that we had that day finished cutting the corn in the Long Field. It was evening, and a large moon had just come up. I had been to see John the Smith about four horse-shoes, which he had promised me, and I was returning by the bridge, having them hitched in my belt. As I came by the great oak, which grows by the bridge, I became aware of a man lurking there in the shadow, and looking narrowly I knew him for a stranger. I was at first minded to give the hue and cry, and to bring the whole village about his ears, but yet there was something familiar to me in the man’s figure, so putting my hand to my knife, I came a little out of my way to pass nearer to him. Blessed God, how cold my heart turned when of a sudden I recognised him. It was Thomas the Freeman, home from the Holy Land. I thought of his dead wife and babes up at Hart Hill, and I was fain to pass him as if I knew him not, but my knees failed under me, and I stood shaking like a leaf as he came towards me. ‘What, Nicholas man,’ he said, ‘dost not know me, Thomas the Freeman?’ ‘Holy Virgin,’ I said, and took his outstretched hands. ‘How go things with Katherine and the children? How are they?’ he asked. I was silent, being troubled as to how I should answer him, for my heart bled at the thought of the news he must have. I turned my face to the ground. ‘What; are they not well? What’s to do? For the love of God, answer me.’ At that I turned to him full heavily and said sadly, ‘If to be at peace is to be well, they are well, for they rest with the Blessed Saints in Christ.’ He swayed to and fro like a drunken man.