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"That would he indeed a fine day, Mistress, for me and for you. I an't so sure if it would be a fine day for him."

"'Tis five years since he went to Rome. He mun soon be coming back."

"Don't you never hear from him?"

She shook her head.

"He daren't write: It wouldn't be safe, and I've begged him not to try it. It was a Father Polydore Plasden brought news of him last year—I heard it at Fuggesbroke. He was in good heart and near the end of his studies."

"Then depend on it you'll see him soon."

"I shall be glad—more glad than I can tell."

Her face lit up with a smile which was different from her usual boyish grin. Harman watched her pityingly: Poor lady! she will suffer in her brother's heart as much as in her own. Then he said aloud: "I mun go to my men and see what mischief they're up to on the work. Good night, Mistress Catherine, and keep me in mind."

"Trust me for that, friend. Good night."

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Catherine Alard rode down the hill to Conster Manor. The day had suddenly fallen into twilight, with the coming of a mist over Odimere Ridge, a mist glowing faintly red with the bonfires that still burned along the coast. There was red in the sunset, too, and red on the waters of the River Tillingham, which spread forty feet wide between her and Conster at the foot of the hill. The tide came up as far as the ford, though here it did no more than brim the river; farther down, where the land had not yet been inned, it spread from slope to slope, filling the valley with a great sheet of pearly, mysterious water, flushed here and there with the colours of the sky.