'Little maid, it all passed long ago. They were young;
we were old. We let them rule the Manors. "Aha!" cried
De Aquila from his shot-window, when we dismounted.
"Back again to earth, old foxes?" but when we were in his
chamber above the Hall he puts his arms about us and
says, "Welcome, ghosts! Welcome, poor ghosts!"
Thus it fell out that we were rich beyond belief, and
lonely. And lonely!'
'What did you do?' said Dan.
'We watched for Robert of Normandy,' said the knight.
'De Aquila was like Witta. He suffered no idleness. In fair
weather we would ride along between Bexlei on the one
side, to Cuckmere on the other - sometimes with hawk,
sometimes with hound (there are stout hares both on the
Marsh and the Downland), but always with an eye to the
sea, for fear of fleets from Normandy. In foul weather he
would walk on the top of his tower, frowning against the
rain - peering here and pointing there. It always vexed
him to think how Witta's ship had come and gone
without his knowledge. When the wind ceased and ships
anchored, to the wharf's edge he would go and, leaning
on his sword among the stinking fish, would call to the
mariners for their news from France.
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