Dark clear night, moonless but starlight.
Thomas Bettany, returning to Middle Forest, found at his own door a ship’s boy sent by Diccon Wright. The latter was again at the Golden Ship and would see him there. He went and found that the matter was that Vineyard boat could not be at landing first planned. The Alan-a-Dale had come in and chosen to drop anchor just there. Best now the old landing by the reeds. Bettany agreed. Old landing by the reeds.
Home again and preparing for bed he determined to rise early and ride to the ruined farm. If at dusk aught happened and he did not reach the man nor tell him of where now he was to go—then mischance enough! With a long sigh he put himself into his comfortable merchant’s bed in comfortable merchant’s room. He slept and waked, slept and waked and at last an hour before dawn gave up sleeping and lay staring before him. “Now it is Wednesday. To-morrow is Thursday, and then Friday.”
Light stole into the chamber. He rose, moved softly, dressed quietly, stole downstairs, unbarred the small door and was out in court and across to merchant’s stable. Here he saddled his horse, Black Prince. East was daffodil; morning star shone over the castle. Poor Clares’ bell rang lauds, Black Prince went by the softer ways as though velvet shod. So at peace was the land that town gates were no longer closed at night. The industrious young merchant riding through rode off toward Wander forest.
Sun had risen when he came nigh to the ruined farm and began to whistle “Otterbourne.” Beech and ash and oak, fern and thorn, and by a thorn tree he who had been, but was no more Brother Richard. “Well, in these days, many leave cloister—
‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne
And wait there day is three;
And if I come not ere three day is end,
A fause knight ca’ ye me.’”
Thomas Bettany, dismounted now, looked with wonder at the other who stood tall and gold-brown and determined. A night had made a difference!