We stopped at a way-side inn for some refreshment, and one of the men brought me a glass of small ale, but I could not take it, and begged for a drink of pure water instead. My head ached, and I felt parched with thirst. The priest asked the buxom hostess who brought me the water, if there were any news.
"Nothing your reverence, save that the foxes have caught and carried off two or three lambs, but 'tis thought their den will be broken up before long."
I saw two or three of the men who were standing about wink at each other as if there were some jest concealed under the woman's words. Father Austin answered her gently:
"There are many sorts of foxes, and other beasts also, which spoil the flocks, and the worst of all, are wolves which come in sheep's clothing: remember that, my daughter."
Young and distraught as I was, I could not but notice the difference between the treatment of the priest here, and that which he would have received in our neighborhood at Peckham Hall. There, whenever the abbot or Father Barnaby rode abroad, all bowed before them, as if they had been the pope himself, and even our own old fat, sleepy Sir John, was greeted with bared heads; but here, such as we met contented themselves with a careless lifting of hat or cap for a moment, and many gave Father Austin no greeting at all. Others on the contrary were very forward in craving his blessing, even kissing the hem of his robe or the furniture of his mule.
The two ladies rode along close together, but never, that I could see, exchanging a word. However, the elder did speak to the younger once or twice, but she got no answer save an impatient shake of the head. It was now drawing toward evening, and I well remember how the level rays of the setting sun shone through the orchards, making the ripening apples glow like balls of gold and fire among the dusky leaves. The sight recalled so clearly to my mind the orchards of my native West Country, that when we ascended a little rising ground, and the priest remarked that we should soon see home, I looked out, expecting for a moment to behold the gray battlements of Peckham Hall. But no doubt my head was bewildered even then by the fever which was stealing over me.
"There, daughters, that is your future home," said Father Austin, pointing downward, when we had attained the top of the little eminence.
The younger lady uttered an exclamation of some sort, and turned her horse as though she would have fled, but her sister and the steward both at once laid their hands upon her bridle rein, and she made no further move. I roused myself from the sort of stupor that was bewildering me, and looked. I saw a large garden and orchard, surrounded by a high stone wall, having an embattled gateway. In the midst was a pile of old red brick buildings and a church. The little river Darent ran close by, and a stream seemed to be diverted from it to water the convent grounds; I could see the water sparkling in the sun. It was, I suppose, the hour of recreation; for various black-veiled and white-veiled figures were walking in the orchard and garden, while even at this distance, the fitful sound of music reached our ears. It was indeed a sweet and peaceful scene.
"That is Sister Cecilia practicing in the church! We have the best pair of organs in all the country," said Father Austin, with simple pride; "there is nothing like them in all London."
We now put our horses to a brisk pace, and passing through the gateway I have spoken of, we entered a sort of paved outer court, where the men dismounted, and we women folk were also taken from our horses. We were led through an inner gate which opened upon a long paved walk leading up through the orchard and garden to the house. I was growing more and more confused; but I remember well all the sisters pausing to look at us, as was but natural, poor things, and my feeling an unreasoning anger against them for so doing. I have also a vivid impression of some bright flowers growing by the path. Two or three of the dark-robed group now came forward to meet us.