"There is a crucifix," he said, "and the host: they are carrying the sacrament to some one in extremis."
"St. Mary bless me!" cried the girl Claude, as he mentioned the word crucifix, "I have forgot mine;" and away she ran up the stairs again, to seek her cross, which she had left behind.
CHAPTER XLIII.
Richard de Ashby smoothed his brow, and calmed his look, as he crossed from a tavern, where he had been making some inquiries, to a house on the opposite side of the street, not very far from the gates of the castle. It was a large stone building--close to an old church which then stood on that part of the hill--and as it contained several habitations, the entrance of the common staircase was, as usual in such circumstances, left open.
Ascending cautiously, guided by a rope, which passing through iron rings followed the tortuous course of the staircase, Richard de Ashby reached the first floor, and knocked at a small door on his right hand. Nobody appeared, and after waiting for several minutes; he knocked again.
This time he was more successful, the door was opened by a small strange-looking being, dressed in the garb of an old woman, with a brown and wrinkled face, and little, bright, grey eyes. She held a lamp in her hand, and gazing upon the countenance of the visitor with a keen and not very placable look, she asked--"What do you want?"
"I want Father Mark," replied Richard de Ashby.
"He is out visiting the sick," said the old dame.--"Nay, now," she continued, in a petulant tone, "I will answer all your questions at once, before you can put them. They all run in the same round. Father Mark is out--I don't know where he is gone--I don't know when he'll come home.--If you want to see him here, you must come again--If you want him to come to any sick man, you must leave word where.--Now you have it all."
Richard de Ashby had some acquaintance with the world, and fancied that he knew perfectly the character of the person before him. Drawing out, therefore, a small French piece of gold, called an aignel, he slipped it into the old woman's hand, who instantly held it to the lamp, crying, "What's this--what's this?--Gold, as I live! Mary mother! you are a civil gentleman, my son. What is it that you want?"
"Simply an answer to a question," said Richard de Ashby: "Is there a young lady staying here--a pretty young lady--called Kate Greenly? You know her, methinks,--do you not?"