"It was," said Kennedy, opening him coolly an egg.
"Setting thy bishop's mitre aside," said the young knight quietly, "I say that thou liest in thy throat, an this be the maiden's answer!"
With a bound, which overturned his chair and brought the litter of the table-top crashing upon the floor, Lord Kennedy was on his feet, his naked blade flashing before Sir Richard's eyes.
Kennedy, with the play of blades, was like a child in the hands of the young knight. There were scarce above a half dozen passes before his sword went humming through the window, taking glass and sash with it to the ground.
Sir Richard turned upon hearing a sharp cry in the direction of the stair door. Rocelia, all white and trembling was framed within its casements. Thinking alone of her, he started for the steps.
"Sire," Lord Kennedy called to him.
The young knight wheeled. With tunic split from chin to skirt, Bishop Kennedy was standing in the middle of the floor; grave-faced, ashen, but wonderfully calm.
"I have turned traitorous sword against my king," he said. "Thou owest me a death, sire."
"Then I'll remain ever in thy debt," Sir Richard made answer. "'Twas the fault of my unruly tongue. I ask thy forgiveness, Lord Kennedy. And now, come, Rocelia," he said to the frightened maiden, "we'll have earned our walk."
Thereupon he went over to where she was standing, placed her yielding arm within his and together they walked through the outer door.