"Why this fool's errand for the sake of a hot-blooded youth? Faith, I am not averse to earning the five marks reward, yet 'tis a useless quest. Far rather would I be in a snug inn, for my throat is as dry as a friar's sermon." "There's drink for thee," replied the other, indicating the pond with a nod of his steel-capped head. "Water!" exclaimed the first with an oath; "I like it not, neither inside nor out, to be plain-spoken. Art game to return to Twyford, where the ale is of the best?" "Give them time to get out of hearing, thou dolt. Why doth the sheriff keep bloodhounds and use them not, eh, Giles?" "'Twould have been the better way. But now, comrade, let's away!" Revyngton waited till the sound of their horses' hoofs had died away, then, swimming softly back to the bank, he emerged and resumed his way. Now the dangers were doubled, for not only had his pursuers placed themselves between him and his refuge, but he knew not but that every bush or hedge concealed a foe. Thus he was compelled to forsake the high road and follow it at some distance away, keeping as close as possible to the shelter of the coppices and dells that formed the chief features of the district. As he neared the village of Fair Oak he struck the highway between Bishopstoke and the Bishop's hunting lodge at Waltham, and for a long time he lay hidden in the bracken ere the road was free from the seemingly endless cavalcade of huntsmen that journeyed towards the famous Waltham Chase, while hucksters from Southampton and Romsey, intent on doing a good business, were hurrying in the same direction. At length the opportunity came, and the fugitive darted across the road and gained the fields beyond. Here the nature of the country changed, the ground offering less shelter, but away to the south rose the dark, fir-clad hills that lay close to his goal. He had now left the Botley road well on his left, and he could perceive the haze of smoke that marked the hollow where the village lay. His clothes were long dried, and the heat was well-nigh unbearable, so, overcoming his fears, he turned aside to a cottage, the thatched roof of which rose amid a thicket. Here he found that another by-road or lane crossed his path, but there was no sign of any one passing; the cottage itself looked deserted. As the fugitive approached a dog barked, and there was a sound of some one moving about in an outhouse, and to the tortured man the sight of several pails of milk was irresistible. The yelping of the cur brought a woman to the door of the shed, a strong-limbed, coarse-featured creature, with a face lined with innumerable wrinkles and a back bent with years of toil in the fields. "What lack ye?" she demanded sourly. "Am I on the right road for the abbey at Netley?" "Yea. Turn to thy left hand at the cross-roads." "Also, I prithee, give me a draught of milk."