At length he rang a bell which stood on the table, and soon Nicholas appeared in the door way.
He was now a tall youth; his hair was brighter than ever,—that hair had betrayed him more than once: when he was young, playing truant, he had hidden in a field of long grass, the schoolmaster was abroad, and after him, and by chance, gazing over the field, saw a head, bright as a poppy, peep up and disappear; it was enough, he was caught; thanks to the lively hues with which nature had ornamented him.
And the sly expression of his features was not altered; that sharp nose which had once won him the nick-name “Pointer,” gave him as fox-like an expression as ever.
The tie between him and Sir John was one of evil, yet Sir John loved him as much as it was in his cold and selfish nature to love any one; he liked him for his very vices, in forming which he had taken no slight share; like those of whom the Apostle writes:—
“Who knowing the judgment of God, that they who do such things are worthy of death, not only do them, but take pleasure in them that do them.”
Nicholas was now rather the companion than the page, and on very familiar terms with Sir John.
“Didst thou lie awake long last night, Nick?”
“I was somewhat restless, sir.”
“Didst thou hear aught unusual?”
“No,” said Nicholas, after pausing to reflect.