“Peace, sir, and begone on thine errand—thou shalt have a letter from us to Sir Piercie.”
Christie made two steps towards the door; then turning back and hesitating, like one who would make an impertinent pleasantry if he dared, he asked what he was to do with the wench Mysie Happer whom the Southron knight had carried off with him.
“Am I to bring her hither, please your reverence?”
“Hither, you malapert knave?” said the churchman; “remember you to whom you speak?”
“No offence meant,” replied Christie; “but if such is not your will, I would carry her to Avenel Castle, where a well-favoured wench was never unwelcome.
“Bring the unfortunate girl to her father's and break no scurril jests here,” said the Sub-Prior—“See that thou guide her in all safety and honour.”
“In safety, surely,” said the rider, “and in such honour as her outbreak has left her.—I bid your reverence farewell, I must be on horse before cock-crow.”
“What, in the dark!—how knowest thou which way to go?”
“I tracked the knight's horse-tread as far as near to the ford, as we rode along together,” said Christie, “and I observed the track turn to the north-ward. He is for Edinburgh, I will warrant you—so soon as daylight comes I will be on the road again. It is a kenspeckle hoof-mark, for the shoe was made by old Eckie of Cannobie—I would swear to the curve of the caulker.” So saying, he departed.
“Hateful necessity,” said Father Eustace, looking after him, “that obliges us to use such implements as these! But assailed as we are on all sides, and by all conditions of men, what alternative is left us?—But now let me to my most needful task.”