"But, Mistress Wenteline, how came you hither?"
"Why, look you, we be now of the following of the Lady de Percy, and the Lord of these squires and of us is my Lord of Northumberland."
"And the Lady de Percy is at Byfleet? Me reckoneth my Lord were right fain to see his sister."
"Aye, and the Lady Elizabeth was ever his favourite. But, Lolly, I would fain see my dear child. He is at the Manor here, trow?"
"If it like you to bide for compline, Mistress, you shall then see him with no further travail; or if you will come up to the Manor, I rest well assured that Mistress Dayrell, which keepeth house, shall make you right welcome."
"Beattie, run thou to Master Orewell, which I see searching us o'er by yon yew-tree, and do him to wit of this. Say we will return with Lawrence to the Manor, and ask at him if he or Master Chauntemarle list to come with us. If not, then will we leave our returning as it shall please God."
Beatrice obeyed, and in a minute returned with Master Orewell, who intimated that his pleasure would be to accompany the ladies, but Master Chauntemarle preferred to return to Byfleet. Guenllian accordingly sent through the latter her excuses to Lady Northumberland, and the party set out for the Manor.
Lawrence left his friends in charge of Mistress Dayrell, who was well pleased with the prospect of a gossip, and dashed up the stairs, three at a time, in search of his young master. Roger was playing hand-tennis with the other young people—an occupation the suitability of which to Sunday evening it never occurred to him or any one else to doubt. The moment that he heard who was below, he flung down his battledore, and rushed down the stairs as quickly as Lawrence had come up them.
Guenllian had not realised the change that years could make until Roger stood before her. She had been unconsciously expecting to see the child of nine, and when the handsome boy of thirteen, who looked older than he was, came into the room and welcomed her, she could scarcely believe his identity. But the warmth and brightness were those of the old Roger, and they comforted Guenllian after all her fears and heart-sinkings lest he should be changed and spoiled at Bermondsey House.
"Mine own dear child!" she said lovingly. "Verily, I ask your Lordship's pardon; but you shall seem always my child to me, even when you be a man grown."