‘And you came, out of your wont, by day? Why?’
‘These whys are like house-flies. Brush one away and another settles. I came, if you would know, to bring a message. There’s a simple answer to a simple question.’
Brion pondered awhile, his clear eyes fixed on the other’s conscious face.
‘Had the message aught to do, I marvel,’ said he suddenly, ‘with two that accosted me at the Queen’s passing the next day? They were the Lord of Leicester for one, and with him a sweet lady.’
Clerivault gave a little gasp, and looked up, and down again.
‘God’s ’slid!’ he exclaimed; and bit his lip. ‘What mad question is this?’
‘Is it mad?’ said the boy. ‘Well, then, it is mad. Yet there were the two, riding alone and seeming to look for my master and me, where we stood, by his directing, apart from the others. And when they espied us they drew rein, and the lady bade me to put foot in her stirrup; and she held me, and, as she held, she kissed my lips and whispered if I was happy.’
Clerivault cleared his throat, yet answered as if something still obstructed it:—
‘A mere casual impulse, Sir—take my word on’t. Something moved her in thy baby face: perchance she had lost a child. And, as to this Leicester, as you call him——’
‘Not I. It was one spake him so, riding back with a message from the Queen. And the lord was wrathful to be so confessed, and struck the man with his whip across the face, so that I could have struck him in his turn.’