and at the door beneath my lord’s French rascals were conspicuously absent. A few yards further on I met my lord face to face, as he emerged from a lane that led down to the river. At sight of me he started violently, and his hand went to his mouth. I slightly bent my head, and rode on past him. At the gate of the churchyard, a stone’s throw from home, I met Master Jeremy Sparrow.

“Well met!” he exclaimed. “Are the Indians quiet?”

“For the nonce. How is your sick man?”

“Very well,” he answered gravely. “I closed his eyes two hours ago.”

“He’s dead, then,” I said. “Well, he ‘s out of his troubles, and hath that advantage over the living. Have you another call, that you travel from home so fast?”