"Nay, Nicholas," returned his friend, "thou art in a gloomy strain.
I am a messenger of peace; I bear good tidings to thee, not ill-news.
Thou must away with me at once."
"I cannot go; but see! my lamp is out. I must light it again. You see how indifferent I am," he apologetically exclaimed, "I even fall asleep over my prayers."
"Ha! I perceive thou art over-weary; take my advice for the once, and do not rise so soon, nor pray so long."
"Ah, Everard, 'tis not that," replied the holy man; "I have not been to my poor couch since yester morning. I have been praying through the night for the speedy restoration of our holy Church."
"And see, whilst thou hast been sleeping I have saved thy life," interjected Everard; "but I must tell thee on my journey. I would have thee accompany me back to Haddon."
"My poor pets!" exclaimed the hermit sorrowfully, as he lifted up the stone; "they are all killed."
"'Tis a case of death, I fear," pursued Crowleigh, referring to the father's illness.
"I fear it is," replied the other, looking ruefully at his dead pets.
"Thou hast killed my companions, Everard."
"Ugh! pretty companions, I trow," said the knight, scornfully; "but we must hasten. I will acquaint thee with the whys and wherefores as we go. Nay, never mind the lamp, thou can'st say adieu to that. Our horses are tethered to a tree below, and thou must shrive a friend who is at death's door—a priest. I have ridden throughout the livelong day to fetch thee. Art thou ready now?"
"What, so soon? This is sudden indeed."