“They are all gone home,” said Ralph, getting up and stretching himself. “I waited for you. It is all over.”
“You understand,” said Nicholas, putting his horse into motion, and beginning to explain all over again, “you understand that it had not been for that foul hound yelping, I should have had him here. I never miss such a shot; and then when we went after him—”
“I understand perfectly, Nick,” said Ralph. “You missed him because you did not shoot straight, and you did not catch him because you did not go fast enough. A lawyer could say no more.”
Nicholas threw back his head and laughed loudly, for the two were good friends.
“Well, if you will have it,” he said, “I was a damned fool. There! A lawyer dare not say as much—not to me, at any rate.”
Ralph found his man half a mile further on coming to meet him with his horse, and he mounted and rode on with Nicholas towards the mill.
“I have something to tell you,” he said presently. “Chris is to be a monk.”
“Mother of God!” cried Nicholas, half checking his horse, “and when was that arranged?”
“Last night,” went on Ralph. “He went to see the Holy Maid at St. Sepulchre’s, and it seems that she told him he had a vocation; so there is an end of it.”
“And what do you all think of it?” asked the other.