The words caught James’s ear, and he angrily turned round: ‘Foul-mouthed raven, peace with thy traitor croak!’ but Bedford caught his arm, crying—
‘Hush! ’tis a mere bedesman;’ and bending forward to pour a handful of silver into the beggar’s cap, he said, ‘Pray, Gaffer, pray—pray for the dead and living, both.’
‘So,’ said James, as both mounted, ‘there’s a fee for a boding traitor.’
‘I knew his face,’ said Bedford, with a shudder; ‘he belonged to Archbishop Scrope.’
‘A traitor, too,’ said James.
‘Nay, there was too much cause for his words. Never shall I forget the day when Scrope was put to death on this very moor on which we are entering. There sat my father on his horse, with us four boys around him, when the old man passed in front of us, and looked at him with a face pitiful and terrible. “Harry of Bolingbroke,” he said, “because thou hast done these things, therefore shall thy foes be of thine own household; the sword shall never depart therefrom, but all the increase of thy house shall die in the flower of their age, and in the fourth generation shall their name be clean cut off.” The commons will have it that at that moment my father was struck with leprosy; and struck to the heart assuredly he was, nor was he ever the same man again. I always believed that those words made him harder upon every prank of poor Hal’s, till any son save Hal would have become his foe! And see now, the old bedesman may be in the right; poor pretty Blanche has long been in her grave, Thomas is with her now, and Jamie,’—he lowered his voice,—‘when men say that Harry hath more of Alexander in him than there is in other men, it strikes to my heart to think of the ring lying on the empty throne.’
‘Now,’ said James, ‘what strikes me is, what doleful bodings can come into a brave man’s head on a chill morning before he has broken his fast. A tankard of hot ale will chase away omens, whether of bishop or bedesman.’
‘It may chase them from the mind, but will not make away with them,’ said John. ‘But I might have known better than to speak to you of such things—you who are well-nigh a Lollard in disbelief of all beyond nature.’
‘No Lollard am I,’ said James. ‘What Holy Church tells me, I believe devoutly; but not in that which she bids me loathe as either craft of devils or of men.’
‘Ay, of which? There lies the question,’ said John.