“So, boy, it is farewell,” he quoth anon. Pippo found his voice too shaky for speech.
Peregrine got to his feet, the lad with him. “I will take thee to the edge of the wood,” he said.
In silence they made their way among the trees. In some ten minutes they found themselves on their outskirts. Here Peregrine paused.
“Farewell, lad,” he said. “Put not your trust in princes, as the Psalmist hath it. Pray to Christ and Our Lady, and live clean.” Smiling grimly at the words himself he had to give them to the lad. A child’s faith must be left unshaken. Peregrine having this thought in mind doubtless the Recording Angel made tally of the speech to his balance.
He kissed the boy twice, and without more ado turned back among the trees, mistrusting himself for further words. Pippo went sorrowfully enough down the hill.
Peregrine struck again clean through the wood. The Castle thus lay behind him, and the greater distance he might put between himself and it the better now would he be pleased.
He made his way along the soft path, cool green for the most part, here and there scattered with dancing spots of gold as the sunlight filtered through the branches overhead. On either hand were tree trunks, straight as the pillars of some cathedral, flecked with the orange and silver of fungus and lichen, very brilliant patches of colour. It was a silent place, quiet and restful. Formerly Peregrine’s spirit had gone out to meet the spirit of the woods, to find pleasure in the meeting. Now he found none. Disillusionment pressing sore upon him crushed his soul very bitterly.
At last, after some time of walking, he came upon the edge of the wood. Here it was bordered by the high road, very white and dusty, the sun’s rays beating full upon it. To the right it ascended somewhat, to the left it sloped in a gentle decline. Peregrine hesitated. He had no goal in view, nor sought to have any.
While hesitating he became aware of a party of three horsemen riding at a trot from the leftwards. He drew into the shadow of the trees to await their passing. Coming abreast of them he saw in the foremost the Count Bonaventure, the other two being serving men. The Count wore his left arm in a sling, a matter that Peregrine marked with no little satisfaction. Allowing them to pass some couple of hundred yards or so, he stepped from the wood, turned down the hill. He had made but a few paces when the sound of a horse’s hoofs behind him struck on his ear. He stepped quickly towards the hedge. The horse and its rider pulled up along side of him.