And so they talked of other things, but Ralph could only think of his cousin, and wished he was lying in far St Aubin churchyard.
But what Sir William Lisle had said was very true. Magdalen Lisle had seen very well to Ralph, and it was to her sharp wits and ready hands he owed his life.
Hitherto they had been like brother and sister; but as Ralph grew stronger, Magdalen's manner slightly changed. She became shyer, more reserved.
Yolande had taken at once to the child, and they spent much of their time at the little nunnery of Appuldurcombe, where sister Agnes was allowed to see her daughter.
Ralph had been to Newport, and after seeing the relatives of nearly all who had fallen, and gone over the events of the battle until he was utterly wearied, he thought he would set off for Thruxton. While he was thinking of this, sitting listlessly at the hall door, and idling with a pretty goshawk, a figure rode up the rough road across the meadow in front of the manor. Ralph looked up. Not many strangers passed this way. The figure came nearer. Who could it be? It looked like a well-known face--and could it be? Surely that was the voice of one he ought to know?
"Well, Ralph, I'm parlous sorry to claim my bird, but I didn't think I should want it again, and it was only given with an 'if,' you know."
Ralph sprang to his feet.
"What! Dicky!" he cried in amaze.
"Marry, yes, that's my name, if you are very familiar, otherwise I am called Richard Cheke, Esquire, or Master Richard Cheke; but don't let us be too formal."
"Why, Dicky, however did you come to life again?" cried Ralph, utterly astounded. "You're not a ghost, are you?"--for Dicky did look very ill and thin.