"Then listen, my son. Two of the brethren will take thee across the arm of the sea that thou canst see yonder. Thence it is but an hour's sharp travel across the heath to the abbey, the path being well worn by reason of many of the brethren who travel thereby. There are three ways from the spot where thou wilt land the one on the left hand goeth towards Fawley and the town of Lepe, the one on the right to the village of Hythe, but the way thou must take goeth neither right nor left, but leads towards the sun just before the hour of vespers----Ah! What is thy message, my son?" The last question was addressed to a novice, who, panting breathlessly, was standing in the doorway with folded arms and bent head, awaiting the abbot's pleasure. "Horsemen, father; a score or more have appeared on the hill and are making towards the abbey." "Then summon Brother Angelique and Brother Petrox. Hasten, for 'tis no season for leisure." Quickly the two brethren--tall, gaunt, yet sinewy men, with faces and arms tanned a deep red by reason of their calling as boatmen of the abbey--answered the behest, and with the reverence due to their superior awaited his commands. "Take this man across and put him fairly on his way to our parent abbey. Tarry not on thy journey, for the matter is urgent." "Is it thy wish, father, to land him at Ashlett or Cadland?" asked one of the monks. "At Cadland, should the tide prove aright. Now, my son," he added to the refugee, "take mine earnest blessing and go, and may the blessed Saints Mary and Edward, the patrons of our abbey, be with thee." There was little time to lose, for already the horsemen were within two bow-shots of the abbey, and with a loud clatter of sandals the two monks led the way, Revyngton following closely at their heels, the brethren of the abbey speeding him on his way with prayers and cries of encouragement. At the end of a little causeway a boat, broadbeamed and lofty of head and stem, rode on the little wavelets. With a sign Brother Petrox motioned the fugitive to step aboard, then unfastening the rope that held the craft to the quay, he followed Brother Angelique and pushed off. Both monks rolled the sleeves of their gowns above their elbows, seized the two heavy ash oars, and rowed with a will, Revyngton sitting on a rough fishing-tray at the stern of the boat and drinking in the cool sea breezes. The rush of events had well-nigh bewildered him, and listlessly he watched the rhythmical motion of the sinewy arms as the rowers urged the boat towards the opposite shore. Suddenly his reveries were broken by an exclamation from one of the monks. "They follow us; pull thy hardest!" Revyngton turned and looked astern. From the place they had left but a quarter of an hour before half a score of men were dragging a heavy boat down the steep beach.