“Mine honest friend,” said he, “if the jangling of thy bells had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst know Clericus clericum non decimal; that is to say, we churchmen do not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but rather require that of the laity, giving them thus an opportunity to serve God in honouring and relieving his appointed servants.”

“It is true,” replied Wamba, “that I, being but an ass, am, nevertheless, honoured to bear the bells as well as your reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did conceive that the charity of Mother Church and her servants might be said, with other charity, to begin at home.”

“A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern voice; “and tell us, if thou canst, the road to— How called you your Franklin, Prior Aymer?”

“Cedric,” answered the Prior; “Cedric the Saxon.— Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can you show us the road?”

“The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, who broke silence for the first time; “and the family of Cedric retire early to rest.”

“Tush, tell not me, fellow,” said the military rider; “’tis easy for them to arise and supply the wants of travellers such as we are, who will not stoop to beg the hospitality which we have a right to command.”

“I know not,” said Gurth sullenly, “if I should show the way to my master’s house, to those who demand as a right, the shelter which most are fain to ask as a favour.”

“Do you dispute with me, slave!” said the soldier; and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused him make a demivolte across the path, raising at the same time the riding rod which he held in his hand, with a purpose of chastising what he considered as the insolence of the peasant.

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, and with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid his hand on the haft of his knife; but the interference of Prior Aymer, who pushed his mule betwixt his companion and the swineherd, prevented the meditated violence.

“Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not think you are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen Turks and infidel Saracens. We islanders love not blows, save those of Holy Church, who chasteneth whom she loveth.—Tell me, good fellow,” said he to Wamba, and seconded his speech by a small piece of silver coin, “the way to Cedric the Saxon’s; you cannot be ignorant of it, and it is your duty to direct the wanderer even when his character is less sanctified than ours.”

“In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, “the Saracen head of your right reverend companion has frightened out of mine the way home; I am not sure I shall get there to-night myself.”

“Tush,” said the Abbot, “thou canst tell us if thou wilt. This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fighting among the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the order of Knights Templars, whom you may have heard of; he is half a monk, half a soldier.”

“If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “he should not be wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets upon the road, even if they should be in no hurry to answer questions that no way concern them.”

“I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “on condition thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.”

“Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences must hold on this path till you come to a sunken cross, of which scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground; then take the path to the left, for there are four which meet at Sunken Cross, and I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before the storm comes on.”

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the cavalcade, setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who wish to reach their inn before the bursting of a night-storm. As their horses’ hoofs died away,