“Why, yes,” said the priest, “I saw him that day. He had an adventure with several knights from the castle of Peter of Colfax, from whom he rescued a damsel whom I suspect from the trappings of her palfrey to be of the house of Montfort. Together they rode north, but thy son did not say whither or for what purpose. His only remark, as he donned his armor, while the girl waited without, was that I should now behold the falcon guarding the dove. Has he not returned?” “No,” said the old man, “and doubtless his adventure is of a nature in line with thy puerile and effeminate teachings. Had he followed my training, without thy accurst priestly interference, he had made an iron-barred nest in Torn for many of the doves of thy damned English nobility. An’ thou leave him not alone, he will soon be seeking service in the household of the King.” “Where, perchance, he might be more at home than here,” said the priest quietly. “Why say you that?” snapped the little old man, eyeing Father Claude narrowly. “Oh,” laughed the priest, “because he whose power and mien be even more kingly than the King’s would rightly grace the royal palace,” but he had not failed to note the perturbation his remark had caused, nor did his off-hand reply entirely deceive the old man. At this juncture, a squire entered to say that Shandy’s presence was required at the gates, and that worthy, with a sorrowing and regretful glance at the unemptied flagon, left the room. For a few moments, the two men sat in meditative silence, which was presently broken by the old man of Torn. “Priest,” he said, “thy ways with my son are, as you know, not to my liking. It were needless that he should have wasted so much precious time from swordplay to learn the useless art of letters. Of what benefit may a knowledge of Latin be to one whose doom looms large before him. It may be years and again it may be but months, but as sure as there be a devil in hell, Norman of Torn will swing from a king’s gibbet. And thou knowst it, and he too, as well as I. The things which thou hast taught him be above his station, and the hopes and ambitions they inspire will but make his end the bitterer for him. Of late I have noted that he rides upon the highway with less enthusiasm than was his wont, but he has gone too far ever to go back now; nor is there where to go back to. What has he ever been other than outcast and outlaw? What hopes could you have engendered in his breast greater than to be hated and feared among his blood enemies?”