"And then men call us poor women curious and prying," laughed the girl. "Good-night, gentle sir, mayest thou prosper, and have a pleasant journey;" and before Ralph realised she was gone, she had disappeared down the head of the gully.
"Well, 'tis little use following her," thought Ralph; "my business is up there. I marvel whether she told me truth; but I shall soon see."
He mounted his horse, and pursued his way as fast as he could, consistently with the steepness of the ascent.
So steep was the hill in some places, that he dismounted once more, and led his horse up. He had no idea the hill was so high or so difficult to climb, from the view he had had of it below, but at length he found the steep incline becoming rounder and more level. Mounting again, he set spurs to his horse, and galloped over the smooth, close-cropped, wind-shorn grass.
After riding a few hundred yards, he saw a bright glow before him, and in another minute he was trotting up to a low building with a small octagonal tower, on the top of which was a cresset holding a mass of flaming tow and faggots, which cast a lurid glare all over the summit of the lofty down. It was St Catherine's Chapel and Hermitage.
As Ralph rode up, the figure of a man in a monk's dress emerged in the tower, and attended to the fire.
"Art thou the Hermit of St Catherine?" called out Ralph.
The monk turned round.
"Who is it that calls?"
"One of the Captain of the Wight's pages, who has come with a missive for thee."