Aimery bade him a reluctant farewell. “If you will not keep me company here, I go to the wars. At Beaumanoir I grow fat. Ugh, this business of dying chills me.” And then with a very red face he held out a gold ring. “Take it, Philip. She cherished it, and you were her favourite and should wear it. God knows I have enough.”
Likewise he presented him with a little vellum-bound book. “I found this yesterday, and you being the scholar among us should have it. See, the grandmother's name is written within.”
It was a bright May morning when Philip, attended by only two lackeys as became a poor man, rode over the bridge of Canche with eyes turned southward. In the green singing world the pall lifted from his spirits. The earth which God had made was assuredly bigger and better than man's philos
