An old white-headed man sat upon the great stone bench beneath the archway; and a soldier moved backward and forward upon a projecting gallery in front of the building. A page, playing with a cat, was seen further in under the arch, in the blue shade, and one or two loiterers appeared in the court beyond, on the side where the summer sun could not visit them.
Agnes stopped by the porter's side, and asked if she could see the Lord Willoughby.
"Doubtless, doubtless," said the man, "if he be not taking his forenoon sleep, and that can hardly be, for old Thomas of Erpingham has been with him, and the right worshipful deaf knight's sweet voice would well-nigh rouse the dead--'specially when he talks of Azincourt. Go, boy, to our lord, and tell him a young maiden wants to see him. Ah, I can recollect the time when that news would have got a speedy answer. But alack, fair lady, we grow slow as we get old. Sit you down by me now, till the page returns, and then the saucy fellows in the court dare not gibe."
Agnes seated herself, as he invited her; but she had not waited long ere the boy returned, and ushered her through one long passage to a room on the ground floor, where she found the old lord writing a letter--with some difficulty it must be confessed; for he was no great scribe--but very diligently. He hardly looked round, but continued his occupation, saying, "What is it, child? The boy tells me you would speak with me."
"When you have leisure, my good lord," replied Agnes, standing a little behind him. But the old man started at her voice, and turned round to gaze at her.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "My little French lady, is that you? It is very strange, your face always puts me in mind of some one else, and your tongue does so too. However, there is no time in life to think of such things. Sit you down--sit you down a moment. I shall soon have finished this epistle--would it were in the fire. I have but a line to add."
He was near a quarter of an hour, however, in finishing that line; and Agnes sat mute and thoughtful, gazing at his face, and, as one will do when one has important interests depending on another, drawing auguries from every line about it. It was a good, honest old English face, with an expression of frank good nature, a little testiness, and much courtesy; and the young girl drew favorable inferences before she ended her reverie.
At length the letter was finished, folded, sealed, and dispatched; and then turning to Agnes, the old soldier took her hands in his, saying, "I am glad to see you, my dear. What is it you want? Our friend at the Savoy--your father--brother--husband--I know not what, is not ill, I hope."
"Very ill," replied Agnes, in a quiet, gentle tone.
"Ha!" cried the old gentleman. "How so? What is the matter?"