Little, as I thus mused, did I foresee the awfully painful circumstances under which I was destined next to approach the homely grange, and set foot in the humble hall whose roof had sheltered my childhood.
[CHAPTER XXX]
AT CALAIS
I must now ask the reader to waft himself in imagination from Durham to Calais—to suppose that Sir John Neville and Arthur Winram have taken shipping at Dover, and landed near the camp of the besiegers—and that, while the knight has, without the loss of a moment, proceeded to the tent of the king, the page has repaired to that of the prince, to account for his prolonged absence from duty, and to tell of the wondrous things which, in the interval, he has seen and done.
At the door of the pavilion, over which floated the young hero's standard, I encountered Sir Thomas Norwich, who eyed me with a start of surprise.
"What, page!" exclaimed he; "where, in the name of all the saints, have you been?"
"It is a long story."
"Ah! I see. You have been indulging in some more such mysterious adventures as you had at Caen."
"Yes, sir knight," replied I, shaking my head wisely, "such adventures, and so many, that I would fain, with your permission, see my lord the prince to recount them for his diversion."