"Methinks he is sore in love with the maiden, Isabel," Tyrrell answered, nodding his head and smiling grimly. "Well—'tis a most powerful stimulating nostrum. An I miss not my guess, he'll get him well."
Thereupon, with a right good heart, Sir Richard recounted to Tyrrell the story of his travels with de Claverlok.
"And dost tell me that he has been all of these days in thy company without divulging word of our plans, or of thy part therein?"
"Not one word—his knightly vow withheld his honest tongue. But I am certes ready to hear them now," declared Sir Richard.
"God wot, but there's a man to maintain his knightly vow! Though 'twould have been better had he broken faith and told thee of some things. So thou art ready to listen now, Sir Richard? Well, there's a good reason for thy desire to become acquainted with these mysterious haps. But, have patience yet a little time. Everything shalt thou know when we return to the tavern; ... everything, Sir Richard."
After that he sat for a long space, smiling, rubbing his hands together, and muttering to himself. Upon returning to himself, he commanded the foot-boy, Thomas, to bring him his saddle-bags. Taking from them many packages, herbs and powders, he called Isabel to him and instructed her as to the manner in which they should be administered. When he was done, she signed Sir Richard with her eyes to follow her outside.
"He will soon be well, Richard," she said, taking the young knight's hand. "And now, boy, you are free—and happy, too, I make no doubt. Ah! What hosts of enemies have my sharp tongue made for me! But I'll curb it now, Richard—I've found its master," she added, laughing lightly, and thereupon went tripping through the cabin door.