"That's why I caught you with this in your belt, eh?" Peter queried sternly, and drew something out of his pocket, which Rosemary could not see; he showed it to the man, who promptly made a fresh appeal to the saints.
"The roads are not safe for poor gipsies, gracious lord. And I had the message——"
"Who gave you a message for the gracious Countess?" Rosemary asked him gently.
"I—I don't know, gracious lady. A fine gentleman on a horse called to me when I was gathering wood over by the forest of Normafa. He gave me a letter. Take it, he said, to the gracious Countess over at Kis-Imre, but do not give it into any hands but hers, and only give it to her when she is alone."
"Where is the letter?"
"It is here, gracious lady," the man replied, and fumbling with the belt that held his ragged trousers round his waist, he drew from underneath it a soiled and crumpled rag that effectively looked like a letter in a sealed envelope. Peter would have snatched it out of his hand, but Rosemary interposed.
"Peter," she said gravely, and stretched a protecting arm over the gipsy's hand, "the man was told not to give it in any hand but Elza's!"
"The man is a liar," Peter riposted harshly.
Just then Philip's voice reached them from across the lawn.
"What are you two doing over there?"