"Nay," replied Fawkes, gruffly; "the dame knew nothing of it; neither my daughter, of that——"
"And the lass," continued Winter, eyeing the man closely, "is she well and cheerful as becomes her youth and loveliness?"
"As to cheerfulness," answered the other, a shade of sadness coming into his face, "methinks the merry smile hath forever forsaken her lips, for now she looketh so pale and wan it doth seem but the shadow of her former self wandering about the house; but thank God, the worst is over, and she is on the road to recovery."
"And hath Mistress Elinor been ill?" inquired Winter, turning a surprised look toward the speaker.
"I had deemed," answered Fawkes, "that my absence from thy house for nigh on to a week would indicate to thee that something was amiss. I every day expected to——"
"For truth," broke in the other in a relieved tone, "had I known that thy daughter lay ill I would for a surety have called. But, pray, tell me; is she better now?"
"As I have said, she is better; but not herself as yet. In fact, it was on the night of the meeting at my dwelling, after ye had all departed, that I went for a breath of air upon the street and—and—well, it was when I returned that I found the girl in a high fever, and looking much as though she had beheld a foe. The fever spent itself in three days; now, 'tis but the after weakness which afflicts her."
"Thank God for her recovery!" exclaimed Winter, as he eyed Fawkes narrowly; but finding nothing in his countenance to arouse alarm, sank back in his chair with a sigh of relief.
"And now," said Garnet, who had listened with attention to the dialogue, "since thy last words have banished from my mind the anxiety called forth by the recital of thy fair daughter's illness, we may again turn our thoughts toward other matters, and listen to good Catesby here."
"As thou knowest," began Catesby, "it hath ever been my desire to act quickly. Therefore I would suggest that no time be lost in carrying out such designs as will rid the kingdom of our enemies."