Just then the warden's back-door opened, and out came the warden himself, dressed in full clerical costume.
He was going into the neighbouring city, but he stopped to speak to Philip, the wounded soldier; and all the more readily because his old faded uniform told the warden's experienced eye that he had belonged to the Marines.
'I hope you enjoy the victual provided for you by the founder of St Sepulchre,' said he, kindly. 'You look but poorly, my good fellow, and as if a slice of good cold meat would help your bread down.'
'Thank you, sir!' said Philip. 'I'm not hungry, only weary, and glad of a draught of beer.'
'You've been in the Marines, I see. Where have you been serving?'
'I was at the siege of Acre, last May, sir.'
'At Acre! Were you, indeed? Then perhaps you know my boy Harry? He was in the——th.'
'It was my company,' said Philip, warming up a little. Looking back upon his soldier's life, it seemed to him to have many charms, because it was so full of small daily interests.
'Then, did you know my son, Lieutenant Pennington?'
'It was he that gave me this cloak, sir, when they were sending me back to England. I had been his servant for a short time before I was wounded by the explosion on board the Theseus, and he said I should feel the cold of the voyage. He's very kind; and I've heard say he promises to be a first-rate officer.'