uncle packing. For the priory is fat, and with the prior gone--why, the
king is so much the richer. Thou knowest the king."

"Too well," rejoined Lady De Aldithely, with a sigh. "The Archbishop of
York is 'gone packing,' as thou sayest, and the king is all the richer
therefor. And this is thy dog that hath the arrow wound," she
continued, as she advanced a few steps and laid her hand on the hound's
head. "I have here a medicament of wonderful power." She turned to a
little casket on a table and unlocked it. Then taking out a small
flask, she opened it and, stooping over the dog, poured a few drops on
the bandage of his wound. "He is now as good as well," she said
smilingly. "That is, with our good leech's care, which he shall have.
Nay, thou needst not speak thy thanks. They are written in thy face. I
see thou lovest thy dog."

"Yea, my lady, right well. I have naught else to love."

"Except thine uncle, the prior," said Lady De Aldithely.

"Except my uncle," agreed Hugo.

All this time Josceline had waited with impatience and he now spoke.
"He is not to be put outside the walls, mother, is he?"

"Nay, my son. That were poor hospitality. He may bide here so long as
he likes."