Morning shone brightly and cheerfully through the chinks and crevices of
both door and lattice; but the pilgrim's couch was yet unsought. His
vigils had been undisturbed, save when the baying of some vagrant and
ill-disciplined dogs, or the lusty carol of some valiant yeoman, reeling
home after a noisy debauch, startled him from a painfully-recurring
thought, to which, however, the mind involuntarily turned when the
interruption had ceased.
It was late ere Giles awoke. Breathless with expectation, he hastened
below, anticipating a rich budget of news from his guest; but he had
departed.
It was one of those fresh and glittering mornings which autumn alone can
produce. Keen, pure, and exhilarating, the air seemed all buoyant and
elastic, tinging the cheeks with ruddy health, and animating the whole
frame with renewed vigour.
A slight hoar-frost yet lay on the thatched roofs. Calm and undisturbed,
a gem-like brightness twinkled from every object; whilst the vapours
that covered them looked not as the shroud, but rather as a pure mantle
of eider, hiding the fair bosom to which it clung.
The pilgrim entered a narrow street leading to the postern or gate,
called Standish-gate.
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