“And then, friend?” asked Gerhardt quietly.
“Well, if you know the answer to that, you know more than I do,” said Isel, dishing up her salt fish. “Dear saints, where ever is that boy Romund? Draw up the form, Haimet, and let us have our supper. Say grace, boy.”
Haimet obeyed, by the short and easy process of making a large cross over the table, and muttering a few unintelligible words, which should have been a Latin formula. The first surprise received from the foreign guests came now. Instead of sitting down to supper, the trio knelt and prayed in silence for some minutes, ere they rose and joined their hosts at the table. Then Gerhardt spoke aloud.
“God, who blessed the five barley loaves and the two fishes before His disciples in the wilderness, bless this table and that which is set on it, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
“Oh, you do say your prayers!” remarked Isel in a tone of satisfaction, as the guests began their supper. “But I confess I’d sooner say mine while the fish isn’t getting cold.”
“We do, indeed,” answered Gerhardt gravely.
“Oh, by the way, tell me if you’ve ever come across an English traveller called Manning Brown? My husband took the cross, getting on for three years now, and I’ve never heard another word about him since. Thought you might have chanced on him somewhere or other.”
“Whither went he, and which way did he take?”
“Bless you, I don’t know! He went to foreign parts: and foreign parts are all one to me.”
Gerhardt looked rather amused.