'Did Robert ever land in Pevensey after all?' Dan went on.

'We guarded the coast too well while Henry was fighting his Barons; and
three or four years later, when England had peace, Henry crossed to
Normandy and showed his brother some work at Tenchebrai that cured
Robert of fighting. Many of Henry's men sailed from Pevensey to that
war. Fulke came, I remember, and we all four lay in the little chamber
once again, and drank together. De Aquila was right. One should not
judge men. Fulke was merry. Yes, always merry--with a catch in his
breath.'

'And what did you do afterwards?' said Una.

'We talked together of times past. That is all men can do when they grow
old, little maid.'


The bell for tea rang faintly across the meadows. Dan lay in the bows of
the _Golden Hind_; Una in the stern, the book of verses open in her lap,
was reading from 'The Slave's Dream':

'Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his native land.'

'I don't know when you began that,' said Dan, sleepily.

On the middle thwart of the boat, beside Una's sun-bonnet, lay an Oak
leaf, an Ash leaf, and a Thorn leaf, that must have dropped down from
the trees above; and the brook giggled as though it had just seen some
joke.