The night had fallen nearly an hour ere Richard of Woodville, Ella Brune, and the young Englishman's attendants, were seated for the first time round the table of a small Flemish inn, on the day after they had left the shores of their native land. Strange as it may seem, that with a wind not unfavourable, somewhat more than twenty-four hours should be occupied by a voyage of less than sixty miles; yet such had been the case between Dover and Nieuport; for it was more than five hours past noon, on the evening following that on which they set sail, when the bark that bore Richard of Woodville entered the mouth of the little river on which that port is situated. But the art of navigation was little known in those times; and the wind, which, though directly fair at first, was never strong enough to give the ship much way through the water, veered round soon after midnight, not to a point exactly contrary, but to one which favoured the course of the voyagers very little; so that if it had not again changed before night, another twelve hours might have been passed upon the sea. At length, however, the land, which had been for some time in sight, grew clear and more strongly marked; the towers of village churches were seen, distinct; and, anchoring as near the town as possible, the disembarkation was commenced without delay, in order to accomplish the task before nightfall. Nevertheless, ere horses and baggage were all safely on the shore, the day had well nigh come to an end; so that, as I have said, it was dark before the young Englishman, Ella Brune, and his attendants, were seated round the table of the poor hostel, which was the only place of entertainment that the town afforded.

Here first the services of the poor minstrel girl became really valuable to her protector; for notwithstanding the proximity of the English coast, not a soul in the hostel could speak aught else but the Flemish tongue. There were evidently numerous other guests, all requiring entertainment; though with a strange exclusiveness, hardly known in those days, they kept themselves closely shut up in the rooms which had been retained for their own accommodation; and as neither Woodville nor any of his train, not even excepting the learned Ned Dyram, knew one word of the language, the whole party would have fared ill, had not Ella, in tones which rendered even that harsh jargon sweet, given, in the quality of interpreter, the necessary orders for all that was required.

The greatest difficulty seemed to be in obtaining chambers, in which the somewhat numerous party of the young cavalier could find repose. The stable and the adjoining barn were full already of horses and mules, even to overflowing, otherwise they might have afforded accommodation to men who were accustomed in their own country to lie hard, and yet sleep lightly; and only one room of any size was vacant, with a small closet hard by, containing a low pallet. The latter, Richard of Woodville at once assigned to Ella Brune; the former he reserved for himself and three of his men, of whom Ned Dyram was one; and it was finally arranged that the rest should be provided with dry hay, mown from the neighbouring sandy ground, in the hall where they supped.

As soon as the meal was over, the board was cleared, the hay brought in, Ella retired to her pallet, Richard of Woodville to his; straw was laid down across his door for the three men; and the whole party were soon in the arms of slumber. Richard of Woodville dreamed, however, with visions coming thick and fast, and changing as they came, like the figures in a phantasmagoria. Now he was in the King's court, defying Simeon of Roydon to battle; now at the old hall at Dunbury, with Isabel, and Dacre, and Mary, and poor Catherine Beauchamp herself. Then suddenly the scene changed, and he was by the moonlight stream near Abbot's Ann, with Hal of Hadnock. He heard a voice call to him from the water: "Richard! Richard!" it seemed to cry, "Save me! Revenge me!--Richard, Richard of Woodville!"

He started suddenly up; but the voice still rang in his ears: "Richard of Woodville," it said, or seemed to say.

"I hear," he exclaims. "Who calls?"

"What maiden is this thou hast with thee?" asked the voice. "Beware! Beware! Love will not be lightlied."

"Who is it that speaks?" demanded Richard of Woodville, rubbing his eyes in surprise and bewilderment. But no one answered, and all was silence. "Surely, some one spoke," said the young gentleman; "if so, let them speak again."

There was no reply; and Woodville was inclined to believe that his dream had been prolonged after he had fancied himself awake; but, as he sat up and listened, he heard the movement of some one amongst the straw at the end of the room; and, well aware that, if any of the men were watchful, it must be he who had the most mind, he exclaimed, "Ned Dyram! are you asleep?"

"No, sir," replied the man; "I have been awake these ten minutes."

"Did you hear any one speak just now?" demanded Woodville.

"To be sure I did," answered Dyram. "Some one called you by your name: it was that which roused me. They asked about the maiden, Ella, and bade you beware. Foul fall them! we have witches near."

Richard of Woodville instantly sprang from his bed, and advanced towards the casement. The moon was still shining; but when the young gentleman gazed forth, all without was in the still quiet of midnight. He could see the court of the hostel, and the angle of the building, formed by a sort of wing which projected from the rest, close to where he stood; but all was calm; and not a creature seemed stirring. He looked up to the windows in the wing, but there was no light in any.

"Whence did the sound seem to come, Ned?" he asked.

"It seemed in the room," replied the man. "Shall I strike a light? I have always wherewithal about me."

Richard of Woodville bade him do so; and a lamp was soon lighted. But Ned Dyram and his master searched the room in vain; and the other two inhabitants of the chamber slept soundly through all. At length, puzzled and disappointed, Woodville retired to bed again, and the light was extinguished; but the young gentleman did not sleep for some hours, listening eagerly for any sound. None made itself heard through the rest of the night, but the hard breathing of the sleeping yeomen; and, after watching till near morning, slumber once more fell upon Woodville's eyes, and he did not wake till the sun had been up an hour. The yeomen had already quitted the room without his having perceived it; and, dressing himself in haste, he proceeded to inquire of the host what strangers had lodged in his house during the preceding night, besides himself and his own attendants?

"None, but a party of monks and nuns," the man replied, through the interpretation of Ella Brune, whom Woodville had called to his aid.

"Ask him, Ella, of what country they were," said Richard of Woodville. But the man replied to Ella's question, that they were all Hainaulters, except two who came from Friesland; and that they were going on a pilgrimage to Rome.

Richard of Woodville was more puzzled than ever. For a moment he suspected that Ned Dyram might have played some trick upon him; for, notwithstanding the bluntness of that worthy personage, a doubt of his being really as honest and straightforward as the King believed him, had entered into Woodville's mind, he knew not well why. Reflecting, however, on the fact of Ned Dyram having encouraged Ella Brune to accompany them to the Continent, notwithstanding the opposite advice given by his master, the young gentleman soon rejected that suspicion, and remained as much troubled to account for what had occurred as before.

No farther information was to be obtained; and, as soon as his men and horses were prepared, Richard of Woodville commenced his journey towards Ghent; directing his steps in the first instance to Ghistel, through a country which presented, at that period, nothing but wide uncultivated plains and salt marshes, with here and there a village raised on any little eminence, or a feudal castle near the shore, from which, even in those days, and still more in the times preceding, numerous bands of pirates were sent forth, sweeping the sea, and occasionally entering the mouths of the English rivers. The inhabitants of the whole tract, from Ostend to the Aa, were notorious for their savage and blood-thirsty character; so much so, indeed, as to have obtained the name of the Scythians of the North; and Ella Brune, as she rode beside Richard of Woodville, on one of the mules which he had brought with him, and which had been freed from its share of the baggage to bear her lighter weight, warned her companion to be upon his guard, as the passage through that part of the country was still considered unsafe, notwithstanding some improvement in the manners of the people.

At first Woodville only smiled, replying, that he thought a party of eleven stout Englishmen were sufficient to deal with any troop of rude Flemings who might come against them. But she went on to give him many anecdotes of brutal outrages that had been committed within a very few years, which somewhat changed his opinion; and the appearance of a body of five or six horsemen, seemingly watching the advance of his little force, induced him to take some precautions. Halting within sight of the church of Lombards Heyde, he caused his archers to put on the cuirasses and salades with which they were provided for active service, and ordered them to have their bows ready for action at a moment's notice. He also partly armed himself, and directed the two pages to follow him close by with his casque, shield, and lance; and thus, keeping a firm array, the party moved forward to Ghistel, watched all the way along the road by the party they had at first observed, but without any attack being made. Their military display, indeed, proved in some degree detrimental to them; for that small town had been surrounded by ramparts some sixty or seventy years before, and the party of strangers was refused admission at the gates. On the offer of payment, however, some of the inhabitants readily enough brought forth corn and water for the horses, and food and hydromel for the men. One or two of them could speak French also; and from them Richard of Woodville obtained clear directions for pursuing his way towards Ghent. He now found that he had already somewhat deviated from the right track in coming to Ghistel at all; but as he was there, the men said that the best course for him to follow was to cross the country direct by Erneghem, and thence march through the forest of Winendale, along the high raised causeway which commenced at the gates of Ghistel.

As no likelihood of obtaining any nearer place of repose presented itself, the young Englishman proceeded to follow these directions, and towards three o'clock of the same day reached the village of Erneghem. Much to his disappointment, however, he found no place of entertainment there. The inhabitants were mostly in the fields, and but little food was to be obtained for man or horse. On his own account, Richard of Woodville cared little; nor did he much heed his men being broken in to privations, which he well knew must often befal them; but for Ella Brune he was more anxious, and expressed to her kindly his fears lest she should suffer from hunger and fatigue. But Ella laughed lightly, replying, "I am more accustomed to it than any of you."

Onward from that place, the march of the travellers was through the deep green wood, which, at that time, extended from a few miles to the south of Thorout, almost to the gates of Bruges. The soil was marshy, the road heavy, and full of sand; but the weather was still beautifully clear, the sun shone bright and warm, a thousand wild flowers grew up under the shade, and the leafy branches of the forest offered no unpleasant canopy, even at that early period of the year. Neither village, nor house, nor woodman's hut, nor castle tower, presented itself for several miles; and as they approached a spot where the road divided into two, with no friendly indication to the weary traveller of the place to which either tended, Richard of Woodville turned towards Ella, asking--"Which, think you, I ought to follow, my fair maid? or had I better, like the knight-errant of old, give the choice up to my horse, and see what his sagacity will do, where my own entirely fails me?"

"What little I have," replied Ella, "would be of no good here; but I think the best road to choose would be the most beaten one."

"Often the safest, Ella," replied Richard, with a smile.

"Yet not always the most pleasant," answered Ella Brune. But, as she spoke, a human figure came in sight, the first that they had seen since they had left Erneghem. It was that of a stout monk, in a grey gown, with a large straw hat upon his head, tied with a riband under his beard. He was mounted upon a tall powerful ass, which was ambling along with him at a good pace; and though he pulled up when he saw the large party of strangers pausing at the separation of the two roads, he came forward at a slower pace the next moment, and, after a careful inspection of the young leader's person, saluted him courteously in the French tongue.--"Give you good day, and benedicite, my son," he said, bowing his head. "You seem embarrassed about your way. Can I help you?"

"Infinitely, good father," replied Richard of Woodville, "if you can direct me on the road. I am going to Ghent."

"Why, you can never reach Ghent to-night, my son," exclaimed the monk; "and you will find but poor lodging till you get to Thielt, which you will not reach till midnight, unless you ride hard."

"We shall want both food and lodging long ere that, good father," said Richard of Woodville. "Whither does this road you have just come up lead?"

"To Aertrick," replied the monk: "but you will get neither food nor beds there, my son, for so large a troop. 'Tis a poor place, and the priest is a poor man, who would lodge a single traveller willingly enough, but has no room for more, nor bread to give them; but your best plan will be to come with me to Thorout. 'Tis a little out of your way to Ghent; but yet you can reach that city to-morrow, if you will, though 'tis a long day's journey--well nigh ten leagues."

"Is there a hostel in Thorout, good father?" asked Richard of Woodville.

"One of the most miserable in Flanders, Hainault, or Brabant," answered the monk, laughing; "but we have a priory there, where we are always willing to lodge strangers, and let them taste of our refectory. We are a poor order," he continued, with a sly smile, "but yet we live in a rich country, and the people are benevolent to us, so that our board is not ill supplied; and strangers who visit us always remember our poverty."

"That we will do most willingly," said Richard of Woodville, "to the best of our ability, good father. But you see we have a lady with us. Now I have heard, that in some orders--"

"Ay, ay," replied the monk, laughing, "where the brotherhood are in sad doubt of their own virtue; but we are all grave and sober men, and fear not to see a fair sister amongst us--as a visitor, as a visitor, of course. It would be a want of Christian charity to send a fair lady from the gate, when she was in need of food and lodging. But come on, sir, if you will come; for we have still near a league to go, and 'tis well nigh the hour of supper, which this pious beast of mine knows right well. I had to drub him all the way to Aertrick, because he thought I had ought to be at vespers in the convent; and now he ambles me well nigh three leagues to the hour, because he knows that I ought to be back again. Oh, he has as much care of my conscience as a lady's father-director has of hers. Come, my son, if you be coming;" and therewith he put his ass once more into a quick pace, and took the road to the right.

In little more than half an hour the whole party stood before the gates of a large heavy building, inclosed within high walls, situated at a short distance from the town of Thorout; and the good monk, leaving his new friends without, went in to speak with the prior in regard to their reception. No great difficulty seemed to be made; and the prior himself, a white bearded, fresh complexioned old man, with a watery blue eye, well set in fat, came out to the door to welcome them. His air was benevolent; and his look, though somewhat more joyous than was perhaps quite in harmony with his vows, was by no means so unusual in his class as to call for any particular observation on the part of the young Englishman.

Far from displaying any scruples in regard to receiving Ella within those holy walls, he was the first to show himself busy, perhaps somewhat more than needful, in assisting her to dismount. It was evident that he was a great admirer of beauty in the other sex; but there were other objects for which he had an extreme regard; and one of those, in the form of the supper of the monastery, was already being placed upon the table of the refectory; so that there was no other course for him to pursue than to hasten the whole party in, to partake of the meal, only pausing to ask Richard of Woodville, with a glance at the black robe of serge and the white wimple of Ella Brune, whether she was a sister of some English order?

Woodville simply replied that she was not, but merely a young maiden who was placed under his charge, to escort safely to Peronne, or perhaps Dijon, if she did not find her relations, who were attached to the Court of Burgundy, at the former place.

The good prior was satisfied for the time, and led the way on to the refectory, where about twenty brethren were assembled, waiting with as eager looks for the commencement of the meal as if they had been fasting for at least four-and-twenty hours. To judge, however, from the viands to which they soon sat down, no such abstinence was usually practised; and capons, and roe-deer, and wild-boar pork, were in as great plenty on the table of the refectory as in the hall of a high English baron. Some distinction of rank, too, was here observed;^[5] and the attendants of Richard of Woodville were left to sup with the servants of the convent, somewhat to their surprise and displeasure. The monks in general seemed a cheerful and well-contented race, fond of good cheer and rich wine; and all but one or two seemed to vie with each other in showing very courteous attention to poor Ella Brune, in which course the prior himself, and the brother questor, who had been Woodville's guide thither, particularly distinguished themselves.

There was one saturnine man, indeed, seated somewhat far down the table, with his head bent over his platter, who seemed to take little share in the hilarity of the others. From time to time he gave a side-long look towards Ella; but it was evidently not one of love or admiration; and Richard of Woodville was easily led to imagine that the good brother was somewhat scandalized at the presence of a woman in the convent. He asked the questor, who sat next to him, however, in a low voice, who that silent brother was; and it needed no farther explanation to make the monk understand whom he meant.

"He is a Kill-joy," replied the questor, with a significant look; "but he is none of our own people, though one of the order, from the abbey at Liege. He departs soon, God be praised; for he has done nothing but censure us since he came hither. His abbot sent him away upon a visitation--to get rid of him, I believe; for he was unruly there, too, and declared that widgeons could not be eaten on even an ordinary fast-day without sin, though we all know the contrary."

"He is not orthodox in that, at least," answered Richard of Woodville, with a smile. "Doubtless he thinks it highly improper for a lady to have shelter here."

"For that very reason," said the questor, in the same low tone in which their conversation had been hitherto carried on, "the prior will have to lodge you in the visitor's lodging, which you saw just by the gate; for he fears the reports of brother Paul. Otherwise he would have put you in the sub-prior's rooms, he being absent. But see, now he has done himself, how brother Paul watches every mouthful that goes down the throats of others!" The questor sank his voice to a whisper, adding, in a solemn tone, "He drinks no wine--nothing but water wets his lips! Is not that a sin?--a disparaging of the gifts of God?"

"It is, certainly, not using them discreetly," answered Richard of Woodville; "and, methinks, in these low lands, a cup of generous wine, such as this is, must be even more necessary to a reverend monk, who spends half his time in prayer, than to a busy creature of the world, who has plenty of exercise to keep his blood flowing."

"To be sure it is!" replied the questor, who approved the doctrine highly; and thereupon he filled Woodville's can again, with a "Benedicite, noble sir."

When the meal was over, the young Englishman remarked, that this grim brother Paul, of whom they had been speaking, took advantage of the little interval which usually succeeds the pleasant occupation of eating, to draw the prior aside, and whisper to him for several minutes. The face of the latter betrayed impatience and displeasure, and he turned from him, with a somewhat mocking air, saying aloud, "You are mistaken, my brother, and not charitable, as you will soon see. Hark! there is the bell for complines. Do you attend the service, sir?"

The last words were addressed to Richard of Woodville, who bowed his head, and answered, "Gladly I will."

"Oh, yes!" cried Ella, with a joyful look; "I shall be so pleased, if I may find a place in the chapel. I have not had the opportunity of hearing any service since I left London."

"Assuredly, my daughter!" said the prior, with a gracious look; "the chapel is open to all. We have our own place; but every day we have the villagers and townsfolk to hear our chanting, which we are somewhat vain of. You shall be shown how to reach it with your friends."

The monks took their way to the chapel by a private door from the refectory; and Richard of Woodville, with Ella, was led by a lay brother of the monastery through the court. Two or three women and one old man were in the chapel, and the short evening service began and ended, the sweet voice of Ella Brune mingling sounds with the choir, which, well I wot, the place had not often heard before. At the close, Richard of Woodville moved towards the door; but Ella besought him to stay one moment, and, advancing to the shrine of Our Lady, knelt down and prayed devoutly, with her beads in her hand. Perhaps she might ask for a prosperous journey, and for deliverance from danger; or she might entreat support and guidance in an undertaking that occupied the dearest thoughts of an enthusiastic heart; nor will there be many found to blame her, even if the higher aspirations, the holier and purer impulses that separate the spirit from the earth and lead the soul to Heaven, were mingled with the mortal affections that cling around us to the end, so long as we are bondsmen of the clay.

While she yet prayed, and while the monks were wending away through their own particular entrance, the old prior advanced to Woodville, who was standing near the door, and remarked, "Our fair sister seems of a devout and Catholic spirit. These are bad days, and there are many that swerve from the true faith."

At these words a conviction, very near the truth, broke upon Woodville's mind, as he recollected what Ella had told him of the opinions of old Murdock Brune and of his relations in Liege, and combined her account with the whispering of brother Paul, a monk from that very city. It was a sudden flash of perception, rather than the light of cold consideration; and he replied, without a moment's pause, "She is, indeed, a sincere and pious child of the Holy Roman Catholic Church; and she has been much tried, as you would soon perceive, reverend sir, if you knew all; for she has relations who have long since abandoned the faith of their fathers, and would fain have persuaded her to adopt their own vain and heretical opinions; but she has been firm and constant, even to her own injury in their esteem, poor maiden!"

"Ay, I thought so, I thought so!" replied the fat prior, rubbing his fat white hands. "See how she prays to the Blessed Virgin; and the Queen of Heaven will hear her prayers. She always has especial grace for those who kneel at that altar. Good night, brother;--good night! The questor and the refectioner will show you your lodging, and give you the sleeping cup. To-morrow I will see you ere you depart. God's blessing upon you, daughter," he added, as Ella approached. "I must away, for that father Paul has us all up to matins."

Thus saying, the old monk retired; and in the court Woodville found his friend the questor and another brother, who led him and his attendants to what was called the visitor's lodging, where, with a more comfortable bed than the night before, he slept soundly, only waking for a few moments as the matin bell rang, and then dropping asleep again, to waken shortly after daylight and prepare for his journey onward.

When he came to depart, however, there was one drawback to the remembrance of the pleasant evening he had passed in the monastery. A stout mule was saddled in the court, and the prior besought him, in courteous terms, to give the advantage of his escort to father Paul, who was about to set out likewise for Ghent. Richard of Woodville could not well refuse, though not particularly pleased, and placing a liberal return for his entertainment in the box of the convent, he began his journey, resolved to make the best of a companionship which he could not avoid.