A low door admitted Luke and his companions into what had once been the garden, in which some old moss-encrusted apple and walnut-trees were still standing, bearing a look of antiquity almost as venerable as that of the adjoining fabric.
Another open door gave them entrance to a spacious chamber, formerly the eating-room or refectory of the holy brotherhood, and a goodly room it had been, though now its slender lanceolated windows were stuffed with hay to keep out the air. Large holes told where huge oaken rafters had once crossed the roof, and a yawning aperture marked the place where a cheering fire had formerly blazed. As regarded this latter spot, the good old custom was not, even now, totally abrogated. An iron plate, covered with crackling wood, sustained a ponderous black caldron, the rich steam from which gratefully affected the olfactory organs of the highwayman.
"That augurs well," said he, rubbing his hands.
"Still hungering after the fleshpots of Egypt," said the sexton, with a ghastly smile.
"We will see what that kettle contains," said Luke.
"Handassah—Grace!" exclaimed Sybil, calling.
Her summons was answered by two maidens, habited not unbecomingly, in gipsy gear.
"Bring the best our larder can furnish," said Sybil, "and use despatch. You have appetites to provide for, sharpened by a long ride in the open air."
"And by a night's fasting," said Luke, "and solitary confinement to boot."
"And a night of business," added Turpin—"and plaguy perplexing business into the bargain."