Sir Ro awoke with a start. It seemed as though a bright light from heaven blinded him. There was a warmth as of living fire about him. All the cell seemed a-flame. Then his full senses came, and he leaped and cried aloud for joy.
There in front of him was the fairest scene in all the world.
Gone was the cold damp cell, gone the poisonous atmosphere of the dungeon, gone were the iron fetters, his strength had returned to him, and lo!—before him, shining fair in the summer sunlight, rich in the fulsome melody of singing birds, was a fair English landscape, and beyond it his own ancestral hall of Staley.
God had heard his prayer. By His own Almighty working he had bridged time and space, and Sir Ro was safe again at his old English home.
“A miracle, a miracle!” exclaimed the knight. And, like a good Christian, he fell upon his knees, and gave thanks to God.
When he arose Sir Ro passed along the soft and level sward of green until he came to the hall door. There he knocked long and loud. The warder who answered the knocking, failed to recognise the knight.
“Who knocks so long and loudly?” asked the warder, peering curiously at the palmer. “For a holy man, friend, methinks thou hast a mighty powerful stroke.”
This greeting reminded Sir Ro that he was no longer dressed as a knight, but in the garb of a palmer, and that he had best put off knightly ways unless he wished to be discovered, so, in a feigned voice, he answered:
“I am a humble palmer, hungry and footsore, and I crave a meal and leave to rest awhile. All of which I pray ye grant for Christ Jesu’s sake.”
“Well, well,” said the warder, somewhat mollified by the penitent tone of his visitor, “of a truth thou lookest woe-begone and travel-stained. Come thou within and eat and drink, and then, perchance, thou wilt have a tale to tell, which will help the hours to pass merrily. Hast thou any tidings? Is there any fresh news from the Holy Land?”