"I fall not lightly, brother," replied Dicky. "The armed men came with the rush of a battering-ram. But thanks to St. Dunstan and the muddy roads, I got off scathless.--And now, Dobbin--to our oats, Dobbin, to our oats; and to our lady's aid."
The lay-brother, much relieved in his mind, hurriedly retraced his steps. It was broad daylight as he once more approached the chapel, and while yet at a distance he plainly perceived a little crowd gathered at the door.
A horse-litter, consisting of a kind of curtained couch resting on two poles, borne by two stout horses, was in waiting. On the foremost horse rode a groom. Another mounted man stood by, leading a spare saddle-horse.
As the lay-brother drew nearer, he saw three figures issue from the chapel, and recognized the Lady Aliva, his mother, and Father Bertram.
Struck with astonishment that the desired conveyance should have appeared so speedily, the Benedictine halted in the middle of the road. Then the truth flashed upon him.
It was impossible that the litter could have come from Bletsoe. There must be treachery afoot.
A glance at the De Breauté livery worn by the mounted groom confirmed his suspicion.
Without a moment's hesitation he rushed forward, exclaiming in warning tones,--
"Mother! my lady! Stay, stay! for God's sake stay!" and as he spoke he stretched out a detaining hand towards the litter.
But ere he could grasp it, the priest, who had been assisting Aliva into the conveyance, turned sharply round, and with the key of the chapel door, which he still held in his hand, dealt the Benedictine a heavy blow on the head.