"Marry, my lord, an it be not a senseless wine-wager begot at cock-crow after a night of wild feasting, I am much mistaken withal," observed another member of the council.
"Belike it is," Douglas agreed. "Belike it is. But 'tis sinful, I take it, thus to waste an honest body. I like me the young knight's looks mightily, gentlemen, and I say to thee now, an he vanquish in single combat those whom thou shalt choose to be his adversaries, I'll appoint him chief of horse when the time grows ripe to send our expedition against the usurper and tyrant, Henry. This is Lady Anna's suggestion, and in her judgment of character I repose the utmost of confidence. Now, noble gentles, lay me thy heads together and appoint me a list of fighting men, each of whom shall, according as thou mayst order, insult and duel with the young knight. Let Henry be apprised of our intention to comply with his behest. Counselors, that is all."
The members of the council thereupon bowed gravely and withdrew to their own room for the purpose of making out the list in compliance with Lord Douglas's request.
During the whole of this time, in the curtained alcove below, Lady Anna had been conversing with Sir Richard. From the inception of their acquaintance, the young knight had accorded to her a sincere admiration, and in a very short space she had won his confidence to the extent that he was now narrating to her the experiences of his journey. When he came to the incident of the cutting of saffron velvet, which he had withheld when telling his story to Lord Douglas, Lady Anna displayed a more than passive interest, expressing an earnest wish to see and examine the bit of cloth. When he obediently gave it to her, she took it within her shapely fingers, crumpling it into many wrinkles, arching her fine brows, and making a pretense of feeling jealousy. In fact, whenever opportunity offered, she set his cup to brimming with sweetest flattery. Like all men of whom she chose to make instruments in the furthering of her husband's schemes, Sir Richard became a mere creature of clay in her deft hands.
"Lord Douglas told you, Richard," said she, when they were done discussing the subject of his adventures, "that to-day is the day of the Cobbler's Feast. But he was remiss in not adding that it is also my birthday, and that we have arranged that you shall have seat at table between my lord and me, ... the guest of honor. Though the honor shall be ours in claiming you as such, brave knight." Thereupon she arose with a pretty show of reluctance from the cushioned window-seat. "How old would you take me to be?" she concluded with an arch look.
Sir Richard, extremely sensible of the intimacy of Lady Anna's question, flushed with embarrassment. He begged to be excused from answering, averring that he had ever been an ill judge of women's ages. When she pressed him for a reply, which she contrived to do without seeming to be over bold, he ventured a surmise that she must be nearly of an age with himself.
"Why, what a flatterer you are to be sure, Richard," she said, laughing gaily. "Beshrew me for a witch, an you are anything more than a mere boy! I am thirty-three, sir knight. Thirty-three this day. But come," she added, taking his hand, pressing it gently and casting sidelong glances out of a pair of wonderfully expressive brown eyes; "it is not my wish to keep you altogether to myself. Permit me to acquaint you with the company in the hall," Lady Anna pursued, as she led Sir Richard into the throng of courtiers and maidens. "Till we meet beside the wassail board, make you merry," she said then. "And forget not to address a word or two in my direction. I shall esteem each one of them a ... jewel, Richard."
The young knight perceived, the while he was moving from group to group receiving introductions, that the council of powdered jackdaws had been adjourned. Its members were spread out over the hall, singling out men, one after another, and engaging them in a momentary conversation. He was curious to know why, after each of these brief exchanges, he at once became the object of these men's scrutinizing glances. But, though he recalled the incident later, it was temporarily lost and forgotten amid the banalities of polite talk to which he was obliged to lend constant ear. Sir Richard entered wholly into the holiday spirit pervading the company, however, and served out honeyed words with a zest quite equal in degree with that which he drank them in. He found the change from his ardorous and lonely journey to this atmosphere of good cheer and loud merriment to be most agreeable. His message had been delivered, his work was now done, and he felt altogether care-free and happy.
Before the hour set for the feast in the great hall, he was singled out by a page and conducted to a room, which he was told was to be his during his stay in Castle Yewe. It was ample in size and magnificently furnished. Its walls and ceiling were trimmed in deep oaken paneling. Over the fireplace, which occupied quite two-thirds of the west side of the chamber, the woodwork was fretted and scrolled from mantel-shelf to ceiling. Upon the massive oak bed were neatly arranged a suit of slashed silk and velvet, a fine lace and linen upper garment, and boots of soft leather to match. There was also an elegantly fashioned rapier to take the place of the service-blade that he habitually carried at his side. His saddle-bags were flung across a holder fashioned for the purpose of bearing these inseparable companions of the traveler.
Sir Richard sat down upon the edge of the bed, and before starting to change his dress, took out the cutting of saffron velvet from the breast of his doublet. He held it at arm's length, regarding it for quite a space with an expression of deep melancholy. He thought again of the beautiful Lady Anna's parting, whispered words—"I shall esteem each one of them a ... jewel, Richard." They had recurred to him many times, and in each instance his heart had undeniably responded in a tenderly sentimental way. It occurred to his imaginative fancy that the bit of cloth had eyes, and that they were looking at him with sad, reproachful glances. He felt less guilty after he had taken up his sword and solemnly renewed his vow. He made up his mind that never again would he be untrue to the cutting of velvet and the maid by whom it had been relinquished into his keeping, but whom he had not yet seen.