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"Why, marry, yea! At least I see no reason why not. One can have them everywhere else. Let us ask the Captain."

Lord Woodville had been riding on lost in abstraction. They had left Godshill on their right. They were now skirting the high hills, the outlying spurs of Week Down. Hearing his name mentioned, the Captain of the Wight turned round; as he did so, he caught sight of a figure, and instantly his face became as pale as death, and then flushed up with angry fire.

The quick eyes of Yolande did not fail to detect the change. Her eyes glanced in the direction of Lord Woodville. She saw a man in a common dress standing by the side of an old thorn bush.

"'Tis only a hind belonging to the Priory of Appuldurcombe. I marvel what hath come to the Captain," she murmured.

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