There could be no further question to a Lollard mind of the trustworthiness of the Duke's messenger. Frideswide came out of the dark passage, and dismissed her usher, giving him her parcels to take back with him.
"This worthy master will see me home, and I have ado with him first," she said. "Now, pray you, Master Goose, if your name be so, lead on."
Silently Frideswide followed her guide up to Aldersgate, through Little Britain,—where of old time stood the town mansion of the Counts of Bretagne, who through several centuries were Earls of Richmond—across Smithfield, and paused before a small house at the north-west corner of that open space. Mr. Goose unlocked the door by a key from his pocket, and led Frideswide up a very narrow staircase, into a small room fitted as a sitting-room. Leaving her there, he disappeared for a moment; and the next minute, a stately step crossed the chamber, and the Duke stood before her.
It was rather more than two years since they had met, but Frideswide was unprepared to find him so sadly changed. He looked rather as if twenty years than two had passed over him. Yet only in his forty-fourth year, he had the appearance of broken-down, premature old age: and every tone of his voice was like a moan of pain.
"Mistress Frideswide, I have heard, in this my retreat, that which hath broken mine heart. Tell me, is it true?"
Frideswide did not ask what he meant. She knew that only too well.
"My Lord, it is true indeed. Our sweet young Lady went her way to God, on Sunday se'nnight in the even."
"On whose soul Jesu have mercy!" broke almost mechanically from the lips of the desolate father.
"Amen!" responded Frideswide.
"Was he with her?" demanded the Duke almost fiercely. He had neither affection nor respect for "Tom Grey," as his Lancastrian instincts contemptuously termed him.