“The ronions! the foul fiend has distraught them!” groaned the landlord, motionless with astonishment; but the more active Meg, calling to the varlets and scullions, whom the tymbesteres had collected in the yard, to follow her, bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door, and arrived in time to throw herself between the captives and the harpies, whom Sibyll’s rich super-tunic and Adam’s costly gown had inflamed into all the rage of appropriation.
“What mean ye, wretches?” cried the bold Meg, purple with anger. “Do ye come for this into honest folk’s hostelries, to rob their guests in broad day—noble guests—guests of mark! Oh, Sir John! Sir John! what will ye think of us?”
“Oh, Sir John! Sir John!” groaned the landlord, who had now moved his slow bulk into the room. “They shall be scourged, Sir John! They shall be put in the stocks, they shall be brent with hot iron, they—”
“Ha, ha!” interrupted the terrible Graul, “guests of mark! noble guests, trow ye! Adam Warner, the wizard, and his daughter, whom we drove last night from their den, as many a time, sisters, and many, we have driven the rats from charnel and cave.”
“Wizard! Adam! Blood of my life!” stammered the landlord, “is his name Adam after all?”
“My name is Adam Warner,” said the old man, with dignity, “no wizard—a humble scholar, and a poor gentleman, who has injured no one. Wherefore, women—if women ye are—would ye injure mine and me?”
“Faugh, wizard!” returned Graul, folding her arms. “Didst thou not send thy spawn, yonder, to spoil our mart with her gittern? Hast thou not taught her the spells to win love from the noble and young? Ho, how daintily the young witch robes herself! Ho, laces and satins, and we shiver with the cold, and parch with the heat—and—doff thy tunic, minion!”
And Graul’s fierce gripe was on the robe, when the landlord interposed his huge arm, and held her at bay.
“Softly, my sucking dove, softly! Clear the room and be off!”
“Look to thyself, man. If thou harbourest a wizard against law,—a wizard whom King Edward hath given up to the people,—look to thy barns,—they shall burn; look to thy cattle,—they shall rot; look to thy secrets,—they shall be told. Lancastrian, thou shalt hang! We go! we go! We have friends amongst the mailed men of York. We go,—we will return! Woe to thee, if thou harbourest the wizard and the succuba!”