He was interrupted here by the entrance of Mistress Crawley.
'Ill news!' she exclaimed. 'And who is there amongst us who dare be the bearer of it to my lady? Not I, not I! Her heart will break if Sir Philip is wounded and like to die.'
Several young maidens of Lady Pembroke's household had followed Mistress Crawley into the hall, regardless of the reproof they knew they should receive for venturing to do so.
'I cannot tell my lady—nay, I dare not!' Mistress Crawley said, wringing her hands in despair.
'Here is the despatch which Sir Francis Walsingham has committed to me,' the gentleman said. 'I crave pardon, but I must e'en take yonder seat. I have ridden hard, and I am well-nigh exhausted,' he continued, as he threw himself on one of the benches, and called for a cup of sack.
Lucy meanwhile stood motionless as a statue, her wet cloak clinging to her slender figure, the hood falling back from her head, the long, damp tresses of hair rippling over her shoulders.
'I will take the despatch to my lady,' she said, in a calm voice, 'if so be I may be trusted to do so.'
THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE.