He stood there in his red vestments; he moved this way and that; he made his gestures; he spoke in undertones, lit only by the pair of wax-candles, more Levitical than ever in such a guise, yet more unsuited than ever to such exterior circumstances.

Surely this man should say mass for ever; yet surely never again ride over the moors to do it, amidst enemies.

He was of the strong castle and the chamber, not of the tent and the battle....

And yet it was of such soldiers as these, as well as of the sturdy and the strong, that Christ's army was made.
* * * * * It was in broad daylight, though under a weeping sky, that Robin rode into the court at Matstead.

He shook the rain from his cloak within the screens, and stamped to get the mud away; and, as he lifted his hat to shake it, his father came in from the pleasaunce.
Robin glanced up at him, swift and shy, half smiling, expecting a word or a look.