"And I would further recommend," continued Winter, drumming on the table with his fingers, "that thou say but little about this meeting, even," looking narrowly at Fawkes, "to thy pretty daughter; for I have remarked there is sometimes a certain visitor at thy house who, if the report did reach his ears that two or three gentlemen of the Catholic persuasion were closeted together, might denounce the assembling as a conspiracy,—which would be most unjust—and bring the King's Guard with small courtesy. Dost follow me, friend Guido?"
"That I do; but there's naught to fear; I know your meaning. Heretics will no more darken my door."
"That is well, and I hope, truly spoken," replied Winter, nodding his head in approval, and rising from his chair with an air of relief that the business of the evening was settled. "Let us," he continued, filling up the cups, "drink success to our compact."
"Ah!" cried Fawkes, pointing to the wine as it flowed from the flagon's mouth, "A most fitting color be the draught;" then, as he raised the tankard to his lips, "A toast, Sir Thomas, I will offer thee. May we be as willing to give our blood when asked, as this good flagon to yield its red cheer to us! And now I must set out for home, and 'tis with a lighter heart than when I came. Dost thou wish my presence here to-morrow?" he inquired as they reached the door.
"Thou mayst call on the stroke of ten, or thereabouts. Until then, farewell."
The host watched the form of his guest disappear in the darkness, and shutting the door, returned with a thoughtful step to the chamber wherein they had been sitting. Filling a cup with wine and raising it on high, he exclaimed with a laugh: "Troth, Master Fawkes, I did drink to thy health awhile ago; now I will quaff a flagon to thy daughter. Here is to one, Mistress Elinor, the fairest, the sweetest wench in all England, and for one warm kiss from whose lips Sir Thomas Winter would right gladly face grim death. Marry," he mused, setting down the cup, "thou hast done, mayhap, a good stroke for the cause, in bringing this bloodhound Fawkes from out of Spain, but young Monteagle, beware; for if I be judge, the Spanish treatment of a heretic leaves but little for the burial."