man was like to know where there was a matter of two hundred folk
between clerks and soldiers, he had often crushed a pottle with
them. No; he had never heard of one called Randall, neither in hat
nor cowl, but he knew more of them by face than by name, and more by
byname than surname or christened name. He was certainly not the
archer who had brought a token for Mistress Birkenholt, and his
comrades all avouched equal ignorance on the subject. Nothing could
be gained there, and while Father Shoveller rubbed his bald head in
consideration, Stephen rose to take leave.

"Look you here, my fair son," said the monk. "Starting at this
hour, though the days be long, you will not reach any safe halting
place with daylight, whereas by lying a night in this good city, you
might reach Alton to-morrow, and there is a home where the name of
Brother Shoveller will win you free lodging and entertainment."

"And to-night, good Father?" inquired Ambrose.

"That will I see to, if ye will follow me."

Stephen was devoured with impatience during the farewells in the
Castle, but Ambrose represented that the good man was giving them
much of his time, and that it would be unseemly and ungrateful to
break from him.

"What matter is it of his? And why should he make us lose a whole
day?" grumbled Stephen.

"What special gain would a day be to us?" sighed Ambrose. "I am
thankful that any should take heed for us."