It was evening when they arrived, and they had scarcely been there half an hour before no less a personage than the village priest called, ostensibly as a chance visitor, but really, as Edgar shrewdly suspected, to examine the two strangers, and to ascertain, if possible, what their visit portended.
"Ye are strangers here," remarked the priest, as he brought a mess of soup to the table at which Edgar and Peter were seated, and sat down himself.
Edgar assented and went on with his meal, though he kept a watchful eye upon the priest. The man was past middle age, tall and well built to all appearances, and had a kindly and pleasant, though careworn, face. Kindly as he looked, Edgar felt anxious to keep the real object of his visit there a secret from this man more than any other, for of all those in the village it was most probable that the local priest was on friendliest terms with the lord of the soil at Castle Ruthènes.
"Doubtless 'tis to visit the castle, and not us poor villagers, that ye are come," said the priest quietly, after a few minutes' pause.
"Nay, we know not Sir Eustace, and though we should like to see so fine a castle before we pass on, we shall not seek his hospitality."
"Are ye for us or against us?" asked the priest suddenly, fixing a pair of steady grey eyes upon Edgar.
"I know not what ye mean," said Edgar uncomfortably.
"I mean, are ye for the downtrodden and oppressed, or do ye uphold those who grind and ill-use the weak and helpless?"
"Certainly not the latter," cried Edgar quickly.
"Then join thyself to us, and make thyself famous in aiding a noble cause," cried the priest, his face flushing and his eyes sparkling like those of a zealot.