"Is it thou, Wilfred of Aescendune, in the flesh?"
"I am he."
"Then I am glad to see thee, for thus my limbs are saved the toil of seeking thee, and my rheumatics make me dread the night air."
"Seeking me?"
"Yes, verily; the good prior desireth thee earnestly, and adjured me to fetch thee without delay; and lo! Saint Cuthbert hath sent thee."
What could the prior want of him? thought the lad; had he heard of the quarrel, through young Eadwin, and did he disapprove of it?
At all events, he would be saved the trouble of many words; and he entered.
He passed along the cloister, with its ceiling of carved wood and its rude wooden crucifix at the end thereof; he looked out at the little green square of grass, enclosed by the quadrangle, wherein reposed in peace the monks of former generations. Once the thought flashed over him, that a similar little grassy hillock might, ere a few hours were over, be raised above his own earthly remains; but that did not shake his purpose.
He ascended a spiral staircase and entered the prior's own cell.
"What, Wilfred! and so soon? Sooth to say, my messenger hath sped."