“He went into the kitchen,” said Belasez. Abraham shuffled off in that direction, in the loose yellow slippers which were one of the recognised signs of a Jew.
“Delecresse is just gone out,” he said, coming back directly. “I will talk to him when he comes in.”
But twelve days elapsed before Delecresse returned.
“Cress, thou wilt not do anything to Sir Richard of Gloucester?” earnestly pleaded Belasez, when she found him alone.
“No,” said Delecresse, with a glitter in his eyes which was not promising.
“Hast thou done any thing?”
“All I mean to do.”
“O Cress, what hast thou done?”
“Go to bed!” was the most lucid explanation which all the eager entreaties of Belasez could obtain from her brother.