It was now past midnight. The village was sunk in silence, and no one was to be seen about. His first idea was to make his way towards Bedford, and he passed half across the bridge over the dark river. Then he fancied he heard the sound of a horse's hoof echoing from a distance through the stillness of the night. Though he knew it not, it was the sound of De Breauté spurring towards Bedford.
But another sight close at hand called off his attention. Through the gloom he became distinctly aware of a tall, armed figure leaning against the parapet of the bridge.
"Gramercy!" he said to himself, stopping short; "here is one of the soldiers on guard! There can be no escape this way. St. Benedict aid us!"
Of course, unaware that in a few minutes the man would be withdrawn, the lay-brother retraced his steps. Next he met the other man-at-arms leading the horses toward his comrade, and his heart sank within him at what he imagined were further measures to guard the Bedford road. He passed the soldier unchallenged in the dark, and then a little further met a man coming towards the chapel.
It was the priest, straight from his conclave with De Breauté.
Bertram de Concours approached the lay-brother.
"A brother servant in the ministry of Holy Church, an I mistake not," said he.
"Nay, reverend father," returned the Benedictine, "but a lay-brother I, of the holy house of Alban."
"And I," returned the other, "am but the unworthy priest who serves the altar of St. Nicolas in yonder chapel. But the chapel," he continued, eying the lay-brother closely, "is occupied by other than its priest to-night. A lady hath sought sanctuary there. She must be guarded, watched, tended."
The Benedictine was puzzled. The voice sounded to him like the voice of him whom he had heard talking with De Breauté without the chapel door. Should he ask his advice and help? He was the priest of the chapel; surely he was to be trusted.