He knows the passes of the North, and is on his way to distant
shrines beyond the Forth. Little he eats, and drinks only of stream or
lake. He is a fit guide for moor and fell."
"Gramercy!" exclaimed Lord Marmion. "Loth would I be to take Friar John,
if this Palmer will lead us as far as Holy-Rood. I'll pay him not in
beads and cockle shells, but in 'angels' fair and good. I love such holy
ramblers. They know how to charm each weary hill with song or romance.
"'Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
They bring to cheer the way.'"
"Ah! sire," said young Selby, as he laid his finger on his lip in token
of silence, "this man knows more than he has ever learned from holy
lore. Last night, we listened at his cell, and strange things we heard.
He muttered on till dawn. No conscience clear and void of evil intent
remains so long awake to pray."
"Let it pass," cried Marmion. "This man and he only shall guide me on my
way, though he and the arch fiend were sworn friends. So, please you,
gentle youth, call this Palmer to the castle hall."
Little did Marmion dream that the Palmer was Ralph de Wilton, his
deadliest foe, in disguise--Ralph de Wilton, his rival in love, whom
Marmion had accused of treason, had caused to be sent into exile, and
whom he supposed dead.
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