"Then where have I met thee before?"
For a moment a pallor, quickly succeeded by a deep flush, overspread the tanned features of the master-bowman, and his mind travelled back for nigh two score years. Then in quick, short sentences he replied, telling the story of the tragedy which had darkened his life.
"Ah! I thought my memory played me not false," returned the Abbot. "But of that enough! I knew it! And, for an archer, thou art certainly apt in speech. Canst read?"
"Yea, Father."
"And write?"
"Yea, Father. Many a time have I acted as scrivener to Sir John Hacket, the Constable of the Castle of Portchester."
"'Tis well; and rest assured, my son, that, by my holy calling, no word of thy past shall fall from my lips."
"And there is another small matter of which I would speak," said Redward.
The Abbot frowned, for the archer had taken the initiative, but, nevertheless, he signed for Redward to continue.
"When we are gone to the wars," quoth the archer, "'twill be necessary for me to leave my small belongings in safe keeping, and no better place can I think of than this Abbey."