So for the last time the travellers rode forth in slightly improved weather. Harry’s heart beat high with the longing soon to be in the presence of him who had opened so many doors of life to his young mind, whom he so heartily loved, and who, it might be, could give him that which he began to feel would be the joy of his life. The archers, who had been lodged in the warehouses, were drawn up in a compact body, and Master Lorimer, who had a shop in Cheapside, decided on accompanying them, partly to be at the scene of action and partly to facilitate their entrance. So Hal walked by the side of Anne St. John’s bridle-rein, with a very full heart, swelling with sensations he did not understand, and which kept him absolutely silent, untrained as he was in the conventionalities which would have made speech easier to him. Nor had Anne much more command of tongue, and all she did was to keep her hand upon the shoulder of her squire; but there was much involuntary meaning in the yearning grasp of those fingers, and both fed on the hopes the Prioress had given them. Christmas was close at hand, and fatted cattle on their way to market impeded the way, so that Hal’s time was a good deal taken up in steering the pony along, and in preventing Watch from getting into a battle with the savage dogs that guarded them. Penrith market, where once he had been, had never shown him anything like such a concourse, and he could hear muttered exclamations from the archers, who walked by Sir Giles’s orders in a double line on each side the horses, their pikes keeping off the blundering approach of bullocks or sheep. ‘By the halidome, if the Scots were among them, they might victual their whole kingdom till Domesday!’ The tall spire of old St. Paul’s and the four turrets of the Tower began to rise on them, and were pointed out by Master Lorimer, for even Sir Giles had only once in his life visited the City, and no one else of the whole band from the north had ever been there. The road was bordered by the high walls of monasteries, overshadowed by trees, and at the deep gateway of one of these Lorimer called a halt. It was the house of the Minoresses or Poor Clares, where the ladies were to remain. The six weeks’ companionship would come to an end, and the Prioress was heartily sorry for it. ‘I shall scarce meet such good company at the Clares’,’ she said, laughing, as she took leave of Lord Musgrave, ‘Mayhap when I go back to my hills I shall remember your goodwife’s offer of hospitality, Master Lorimer.’