When Sir Richard came again into the outer hut Tyrrell was setting a pot to boil upon the fire. As he bent above the red blaze, dropping pinches of various herbs within the kettle the while he peered closely, from time to time, into the open pages of a book lying beside him upon a stool, he minded the young knight of a black wizard, engaged in weaving some unholy incantation.
"Bear me company over the hills, Sir Richard," he said presently, setting the now steaming pot upon the ground. "We must procure us another herb to complete the nostrum. I' faith, and what a smell is here!" he added, taking up a staff and starting, lame and halting, for the door. "But 'tis as efficacious to the body, withal, as the odor is displeasing to the nostrils."
Sir Richard noted Tyrrell's strange demeanor as they moved slowly from hillock to hillock. When his keen eyes were not bent upon the earth, they would be regarding him with an intent and somewhat of an inquiring glance.
Times he would kick aside a plant, stoop with a painful deliberation, and convey a fragment of its root or leaf to his lips. If it happened to be of the kind of which he was in search, he would unearth it with the point of his mailed foot and continue upon his way. Though by now he was carrying a considerable quantity of the herbs, he was making no move to return. Several times he appeared upon the point of speaking, but always his glance would fall swiftly from that of his companion and engage the ground at his feet. In this silent manner they drew, at length, within the shadows of the wood.
"A strange foreboding of some direful happening doth rest heavily upon my mind," he said then. "Our grasp on life is indeed a slender thing, and easily broken. Mayhap 'twould be the better part of wisdom to say some things to thee here ... and now." He paused, measuring the young knight carefully with his eye.
"Dost know, Sir Richard," he said then, after somewhat of an impulsive manner, as he went stirring about with his staff among the fallen leaves, "that in history I shall ever be written down as a base and cowardly murderer? Thou hast belike heard the dismal story of the boy princes in the Tower?"
"In very truth, I have," Sir Richard made answer.
"'Tis known of the whole world, I doubt not," he gloomily pursued. "And yet ... and yet, I was but plotting ... plotting deeply, daringly ... to save their precious lives. Hark ye, Sir Richard ... and mark thee well that which I am about to say. An it were not for a fiendish knave, called Forrest,—upon whom God's direst curse rest!—they had been both saved to England.
"Forrest, learning of the command laid upon me by King Richard foully to murder both his nephews whilst they did sleep, procured quittance of the keys from Brakenbury and smothered the younger prince before I rushed, with Dighton, my groom, into the Tower room. Commanding my faithful servant to put pillow lightly above the mouth of the living prince, the Duke of York, I bade Forrest instantly to carry tidings of their death to the bloodless rooting hog, who was gnawing his nails and awaiting news in the palace. With Forrest safe dispatched to the King, we hastily garbed the prince in kirtles, thus giving him the semblance of a young maid. My men were waiting by the side of the Tower gate ... they brought him safe to Scotland."
"But——"