'He isn't stirring, for he hasn't been a-bed,' was the answer.
'Then I shall gain admittance?'
'Most like,' was the reply, with a prolonged yawn.
'Those are lucky who can slumber undisturbed, whether a-bed or up. Yesterday's show fell hard on those who had to work at it.'
'I hear you let in a vagrant last night, Master Ratcliffe. The porter saith if harm comes of it he won't take the blame. Most like a rascally Jesuit come to spy out some ways to brew mischief.'
'A harmless country lout is not likely to brew mischief,' Humphrey said sharply. 'The man came on urgent business, in which none here but myself have concern,' and then he crossed to the door leading to the apartments occupied by Mr Sydney and Sir Fulke Greville.
Humphrey Ratcliffe had not to wait for admittance to Philip Sidney's room.
He answered the tap at the door with a ready 'Enter,' and Humphrey found him seated before a table covered with papers, the morning light upon his gold-coloured hair, and on his beautiful face.
Humphrey Ratcliffe stopped short on the threshold of the door before closing it behind him, and how often, in the years that were to come, did Philip Sidney's figure, as he saw it then, return to him as a vivid reality from which time had no power to steal its charm.
Philip looked up with a smile, saying,—