He had spoken his mind decidedly to Drogo about the question of inheritance. Hubert should, if he survived the pilgrimage, be Lord of Walderne, as was just, Drogo of Harengod: if either died without issue, the other should have both domains. Of course Sir Nicholas was quite unaware that the third child of the old lord, Mabel, had left issue. Do our readers remember it? Drogo had no real claim on Walderne, and could only succeed by disposition of Sir Nicholas, in the absence of natural heirs. When the party in the hall broke up about midnight, one parting interview took place between the lovers in Lady Sybil’s bower, while the kind lady got as far as her notions of propriety (which were very strict) permitted, out of earshot. Oh, those poor young lovers! She cried, and although Hubert tried hard to restrain it, it was infectious, and he couldn’t help a tear. But he must go! “Wilt thou be true to me till death?” the anxious lover cried. “Ay, while this mortal form hath breath,” Alicia replied. “Come, go to bed,” said Sir Nicholas, entering, and they went: To bed, but not to sleep. On the morrow the sun shone brightly on the castle, on the church, on the hilltop, and on the wooded valley of Walderne. The household assembled first for a brief parting service in the castle chapel, for it was an old proverb with them, “mass and meat hinder no man,” and then the breakfast table was duly honoured. And then—the last parting. Oh how hard to speak the final words; how many longing, lingering looks behind; how many words, which should have been said, came to the mind of our hero as he rode through the woods, with his squire and six men-at-arms, who were to share his perils and his glory. Sir Nicholas was by his side, for he had determined to see the last of Hubert, who had wound himself very closely round the old knight’s heart; and together they rode through Hailsham to Pevensey. The first part of their journey was through a dense and tangled forest, which extended nearly to Hailsham. It passed through the district infested by the outlaws, and, although they had never molested Sir Nicholas, nor he them, they were dangerous to travellers of rank in general, and few dared traverse the forest roads unattended by an escort. In the depths of these hoary woods were iron works, which had existed since the days of the early Britons, but had of late years been completely neglected, for all the thoughts of the Norman gentlemen or the Saxon outlaws were concentrated on war or the chase.