"A common road and a common goal," spoke Nevil.
"Ay!--common fools!" answered the other. "Who hearing of gray geese, must think, forsooth, of a swan whose plumage turned from white to black! And yet, God knows! to one, at least, the selfsame splendid swan; if lost, then lost magnificently.... This is an idle errand."
"The youth is English," replied Nevil.
"Did you speak to Powell?"
"Ay; I told him that I should visit the hospital this night. We are close at hand. Hark! that was the scream of a dying man. Christ rest whatever soul hath taken flight!"
"There is a pale light surrounds this place," said Arden. "It comes from the fires which they burn as though the black death were upon us. Do you hear that groaning?--and there they carry out a weighted body. War!..."
A group of men moved towards them--Powell, a chirurgeon, a soldier or two. Another minute and all were gathered before the hut of which Powell had made mention. That worthy officer waved back their following, and the three alone entered the dimly lighted place.
"The friar is not here," said Powell, in a tone of vexation. "Passing this way, I did but look within to cheer the youth by some mention of the honor that was intended him to-night. Now they tell me that the man went to the forest ere sunset and hath not returned. Also that he gave the youth a sleeping potion--"
"Which hath not brought sleep," answered Arden, who was keen of sight.
"I took it not!" cried out the half-risen form from its pallet in the corner of the hut. "He thought I drank it, but when his head was turned I threw it away. Master Arden! Master Arden! come over to me!"