“All’s safe—all’s right,” said the hermit to his companion.
“But who is he?” asked the Black Knight. “It imports me much to know.”
“Who is he?” answered the hermit. “I tell thee he is a friend.”
“But what friend?” persisted the knight; “for he may be a friend to thee and none of mine.”
“What friend?” replied the hermit; “that now is one of the questions that is more easily asked than answered.”
“Well, open the door,” ordered the knight, “before he beat it from its hinges.”
The hermit speedily unbolted his portal and admitted Locksley, with his two companions.
“Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question as soon as he beheld the knight, “what boon companion hast thou here?”
“A brother of our order,” replied the friar, shaking his head; “we have been at our devotions all night.”
“He is a monk of the church militant,” answered Locksley; “and there be more of them abroad. I tell thee, friar, thou must lay down the [v]rosary and take up the [v]quarter-staff; we shall need every one of our merry men, whether clerk or layman. But,” he added, taking a step aside, “art thou mad—to give admittance to a knight thou dost not know? Hast thou forgotten our agreement?”