"They go up a path of blood," sighed Dicoll. "May it be an omen of a path that leads to glory."
Behind, the clouds were working up in great black masses, that stretched across from north-west to south-east, and the breeze became colder.
The tide had begun to turn, and the boat was disappearing round a distant bend in the creek.
"There! they are gone, and it's time we went to vespers. Let us carry in Ædric, and make ready for the night. It looks black away to the east and north. I trust we are not going to have snow."
"I wonder where Wulfstan is," said Corman. "I didn't see him when the boat went off, and I should have thought he would have been the last to look at them."
"I expect he has gone off after some more withies," said Ædric.
"Well, I daresay he will come in when he's tired; but boys ought to learn discipline while they are young, for it is a harder matter afterwards," said Father Dicoll.
Meanwhile the boat was getting on very well; the novices in the art of rowing were quickly becoming used to the swing and management of the oar; so much so, that Ceolwulf had told the Boseham men to rest and leave the others to go on, as their services might be wanted later. Only one man had caught a crab, and being swung by the violence of the shock against poor brother Malachi, coming in painful contact with the monk's body, causing him to ejaculate with more than usual fervour, "Ah! quare tristis es venter meus! et quare conturbas me?" Beyond this little catastrophe, which, by the way, did not increase the good feeling of the man who had caused the monk's discomfort for his victim—for he did not understand the meaning of his ejaculations, and mistook them for condemnatory remarks—nothing else occurred.
A little more breeze had now got up, not sufficient, however, to create any ripple on the water, but just enough to keep the sail full.
They were fast approaching the entrance, and could hear the dull thud of the sea as it broke on the shingle outside.