These last words he said as if to himself, but years afterwards, on an occasion yet to be related, they came back to the mind of our Martin. Upon a horse, which he had learned at length to manage well; with two attendants in the earl’s livery by his side, Martin set forth; his last farewells said. Yet he looked back with more or less sadness to the kind friends he was leaving, to tread all alone the paths of an unknown city, and associate with strangers. As they passed through Warwick, the gates of the castle opened, and the earl of that town came forth with a gallant hunting suite; he recognised our young friend. “Ah, Martin, Martin,” he said, “whither goest thou so equipped and attended?” “To Oxenford, to be a scholar, good my lord.” “And after that?” “To go forth with the cord of Saint Francis around me.” “Ah, it was he who taught thee to kill my deerhound. Well, fare thee well, lad, and when thou art a priest say a mass for me, for I sorely need it.” He waved his hand, and the cavalcade swept onward. They rode through a wild tract of heath land. Cultivated fields there were few, tracts of furze—spinneys, as men then called small patches of wood—in plenty. The very road was a mere track over the grass, and it seemed like what we should now call riding across country. At length they drew near the old town of Southam, where they made their noontide halt and refreshed themselves at the hostelry of the “Bear and Ragged Staff,” for the people were dependants of the mighty Lord of Warwick. Then through a dreary country, almost uninhabited, save by the beasts of the chase, they rode for Banbury. Twice or thrice indeed they passed knots of wild uncouth men, in twos or threes, who might have been dangerous to the unattended traveller, but saw no prospect of aught but good sound blows should they attack these retainers of Leicester. And now they reached the “town of cakes” (I know not whether they made the luscious compound we call Banbury cakes then), and passed the time at the chief hostelry of the town, sharing the supper with twenty or thirty other wayfarers, and sleeping with some of them in a great loft above the common room on trusses of hay and straw. It was rough accommodation, but Martin’s early education had not rendered him squeamish, neither were his attendants. The following day they rode through Adderbury, where not long before an unhappy miscreant, who counterfeited the Saviour and deluded a number of people, had been actually crucified by being nailed to a tree on the green. Then, an hour later, they left Teddington Castle, another stronghold of the Earl of Warwick, on their right: they were roughly accosted by the men-at-arms, but the livery of Leicester protected them.