Thereupon he purchased a farmhouse, and settled down with the intention of passing the rest of his days in comfort. Being a highly religious man--though, like most of his companions in arms, he could swear roundly at times--Redward Buckland acted in accordance with the custom of the times. Four marks and a seven-pound candle of pure wax he gave to the priory at Netley, and a gold-embroidered cloth to the church of St. Andrew at Hamble. These presents he accounted sufficient atonement and thank-offering alike for delinquencies and deliverances from peril during his sojourn abroad, and thence-forth he meant to live a quiet, well-ordered life, though, unable to resist the call to arms, he had served in short campaigns against the Scots, and had but a year previously crossed the Channel to take part in the Battle of Cadsand. Yet Hamble was his home, and to Hamble he returned as soon as each particular expedition had ended. Raymond Buckland, now a lad of sixteen, had little in common with his father as far as appearance went. He was tall, slim, yet well-knit, with curly flaxen hair, though the colour had a redeeming tinge of reddish-gold that is necessary to impart a warmth to what would otherwise be a lustreless head of hair. He moved with a grace and ease that contrasted vividly with his father's comparatively awkward gait, but his limbs were not wanting in strength. A vigorous outdoor life had done much to develop his frame. Mentally Raymond was well educated, according to the standard of the age, having but recently returned from the Cistercian priory at Netley, where for the last seven years he had been a novice. His long intercourse with a monastic life had somewhat deadened his natural inclinations, but since his return to the outside world the active delights of youth seemed sweeter still. "Hasten, Raymond," said his father, pausing to look back towards the house, where the youth still lingered. "The young flood hath just begun, and tide tarries for no man! And," he added, "fail not to bring my quiver with the black-feathered arrows." "And can I bring my crossbow?" inquired Raymond. His father gave a gruff yet good-natured assent, and, resuming his walk, sauntered gently towards the river. Before he had passed the church Raymond had overtaken him, carrying the quiver in his left hand, while across his back was slung a short yet powerful crossbow, his own quiver with its stock of heavy quarrels hanging from his belt. "Ha! That crossbow again!" exclaimed Redward, in good-natured contempt. "'Tis strange that an English boy should lean towards a windlac-drawn weapon rather than a sturdy yew-bow. An thou wert a Provençal or Genoese I could have understood it." "Why, father?"