At the Black Mere they had refloated the barge, buried the dead in defiance of all crowners, and cleansed the hall. Some lover-sense had made blunt Cavendish order the place to be strewn with fresh herbs and flowers, and Isoult had smiled when she had seen these men of the sword at their labours. So Fulk, Knollys, and Father Hilarius were ferried over, and Isoult met them at the water’s edge. She was a splendour that morning, and the shine of her lit a light in men’s eyes. Knollys was a little boisterous and exultant. “Madame Isoult, we have brought back knighthood and a shipload of fine plunder, not to speak of that very great saint and cenobite, Father Hilarius.” Father Hilarius bobbed and looked sly. “Daughter, I am the most timid of men. Sir Robert here is a terrible fellow! I was his chaplain in France. Ahem! I will say no more.” They left Fulk and Isoult together, and that togetherness of theirs ended in the orchard, where Knollys, Cavendish, and Father Hilarius set the seal to a great adventure. The priest smacked his lips over it, and was ready to wink at a man who was married with his head in an iron pot. Knollys made a feast for them in the hall, and when they had feasted Isoult brought her lute and sang them songs. And Father Hilarius extended his toes in an ecstasy, and drank more wine. “Surely never was such a voice heard in heaven! My son, you will grow into an angel.” Knollys chuckled. “A devil of an angel with a coal-black beard! Isoult, would it please you to be married to an angel?” She laughed and looked at Fulk. “I would sooner have the man.” Which saying Father Hilarius took to be a most excellent and subtle jest, for he spread himself and exulted. * * * * * PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Misspelled words and printer's errors have been corrected. Inconsistency in hyphenation has been retained. Inconsistency in accents has been retained.