“All, my master.”
“Words must be costly in those parts,” said the man in linen.
“Well,” answered the other, drawing out the word in a tone which might mean a good deal. “Words do cost much at times, Master Saint Oly. They have cost men their lives ere now.”
“Ay, better men than you or me,” replied the other. “Howbeit, my mistress, there is no harm you should know—is there, Master Dugan?—that you be bounden for the manor of Hazelwood, some six miles to the north of Derby, where dwell Sir Godfrey Foljambe and his dame.”
“No harm; so you tarry there at this present,” said Master Dugan.
“Ay, I’ve reached my hostel,” was the response.
“Then my Lady Foljambe is she that I must serve?”
The man in linen exchanged a smile with the man in livery.
“You shall see her the first, I cast no doubt, and she shall tell you your duties,” answered Dugan.
Amphillis sat on the pillion, and meditated on her information as they journeyed on. There was evidently something more to tell, which she was not to be told at present. After wondering for a little while what it might be, and deciding that her imagination was not equal to the task laid upon it, she gave it up, and allowed herself to enjoy the sweet country scents and sounds without apprehension for the future.