With them was a priest of the old Western Church, a Cornishman, with his outlandish tonsure.

He was somewhat advanced in years, and strangely wild looking at times, though silent.

He seemed to be Dunwal's chaplain, or else was a friend who had made the pilgrimage with him.

His name was Morfed, they told me.
I do not think that I should have noted him much, but that when he heard my Saxon name he scowled heavily, and drew away from me; and presently, when it came to pass that Howel told Dunwal the news I had brought, I saw his eyes fixed on me in no friendly way as he listened.

Nor did he join with his friends in the words of gladness for Owen's return, though indeed I had some thought that theirs might have been warmer.