Hyla's tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. His lips were hot and dry, his throat seemed as if he had been eating salt. A horrid fear began to rise within him, such strange fear as he had never known, as he watched the devilish little stick--how human it was!--in its fantastic dance. He did not see that both Felix and Lisolé were regarding him with the most intense amusement. The monk was grinning from ear to ear, and his hands were pressed to his sides in the effort to control a paroxysm of internal laughter. Suddenly the music stopped. The stick ceased all movement, standing upright upon its end. Then--horror!--very slowly, but with great deliberation, it began to hop towards Hyla. Nearer and nearer it came, in little jumps of an inch or so. The tan of the serf's face turned a dusky cream colour, he put out both hands to ward off the evil thing. But it hopped on relentlessly. It came within a foot or two, and Hyla's terror welled up within him so fiercely that he gave a loud cry, stepped back, and with an echoing splash disappeared into the water over the boat side. He rose almost immediately, spluttering and gasping, the shock depriving him of his senses. Peals of laughter, echoing uncontrollable peals, saluted him. Felix thundered out his joy, the jester's thin voice shrieked in merriment. Hyla trod water, staring at them in amazement. "Come aboard, man! Come aboard!" cried the monk at length. "'Twas naught but a jest, a jougleur's trick, oh slayer of Lords!" His laughter forbade speech once more. They helped the poor fellow on deck once more, and reassured him. But it was long before he began to like his company again. He remembered the shrine inside the cabin, the sudden appearance of the jester's torch through the mists of night, and longed most devoutly to be back at work on the good brown fields. Till evening fell and supper-time was at hand, Lisolé entertained them. Never had he been more skilful and more full of humour than on this, his "farewell appearance," as he would have called it nowadays. In his hands a wild duck's egg came, went, and changed, until Hyla's arm was tired with crossing himself. Water poured into an earthen jar changed into chopped straw in a single moment. Never were such wonders before on earth. But as day went, so gaiety went with it. And before rest the monk said prayers at the lighted shrine of Isoult the Healer. He prayed for a safe passage over the waters on the morrow, and that the healing virtues of the relics before them might grow stronger and more powerful as they reposed before the Host in Church. Then they all said the Lord's Prayer together, and so to sleep. But Hyla's rest was fitful and disturbed. Strange broken dreams flitted through it. Often during the night he lay awake and heard the heavy snoring of his companions. The sound brought little sense of companionship with it. He was alone with his thoughts and the night. * * * * *