“Why, Robin, lad, what is the matter?” she cried in dismay. “What can ail thee? Is somewhat amiss at Tremayne?”
For Robin’s face was white with terror, and he trembled from head to foot, and his clothes were soiled and torn.
“All that can ail me in this world,” murmured the poor lad, dropping upon the settle. “There is no Tremayne. The enclosure men came thither yestereven, and burned every brick of it to the ground.”
“The rascals!” exclaimed Avery. “And what came of thy father, and mother, and sister, poor Robin?”
The lad looked up with tearless eyes. “I am all of us.”
Isoult was silent. This was a sorrow beyond human comforting. It had been mockery to bid him be of good cheer then.
“My father had enclosed, as you know,” resumed Robin in a low voice. “And these rioters would no enclosures.”
“Would to God he had let it alone!” murmured Avery under his breath.
“God would not, Mr Avery,” quietly answered Robin, “or he had let it alone.”
And dropping his head upon his hands, the poor boy rocked himself to and fro silently. He seemed very faint and weary, yet Isoult doubted if he could eat; but she fetched a jug of milk, and set it before him, bidding him drink if he could.