"I did not hear you," said the knight. "My thoughts were very busy. But, my good Heartley, I am afraid the time is come that we must part."
"By my faith, it must be a queer time, then, your worship!" answered Longpole; "for it is not every-day weather that will make me quit you, especially when I see you in such a way as you were just now."
"But, my good Longpole," answered the knight, "I am ruined. The king has discovered who I really am; Wolsey has whetted his anger against me, and he has banished me his court, bidding me fly instantly, lest I be to-morrow arrested, and perhaps committed to the Tower. I must therefore quit this country without loss of time, and take my way to Flanders, for my hopes here are all at an end. Wolsey is too powerful to be opposed."
"Well, then, my lord," said Longpole, "I will call you by your real name now; and so I'll go and saddle our horses, pack up as much as I can, and we'll be off in a minute."
"But, my good Longpole," said his master, "you do not think what you are doing. Indeed, you must not leave your country and your friends, and that poor girl Geraldine, to follow a man ruined in fortune and expectations, going to travel through strange lands, where he knows not whether he may find friends or enemies."
"More reason he should have a companion on the road," replied Longpole. "But, my lord, my determination is made. Where you go, there will I go too; and as to little Mistress Geraldine, why, when we've made a fortune, which I am sure we shall do, I'll make her trot over after me. But, as I suppose there is but little time to spare, I will go get everything into order as fast as possible. Carpe diem, as good Dr. Wilbraham used to say to me when I was lazy. There is your lordship's harness. If you can manage to pop on the breast and back pieces, I will be back directly."
"Nay," said the knight, "there is yet one person I must see. However, be not long, good fellow, for I shall not stay. Give me that wrapping cloak with the hood."
Longpole obeyed; and enveloping himself in a large mantle, which he had upon a former occasion used to cover his armour, in one of those fanciful justs where every one appeared disguised, the knight left his own apartments, and proceeded to those of Lady Constance de Grey. Many were the sounds of mirth and merriment which met his ears as he passed by the various ranges of apartments, jarring harshly with all his own sorrowful feelings, and in the despondency of his mind he marvelled that any but idiots or madmen could indulge in laughter in a world so full of care. Hurrying on to avoid such inharmonious tones, he approached the suite of rooms appropriated to Lady Constance, and was surprised at finding the door open. Entering, nothing but confusion seemed to reign in the ante-chamber, where her maids were usually found employed in various works. Here stood a frame for caul-work, there one for embroidery; here a cushion for Italian lace thrown upon the ground; there a chair overturned; while two of the maids stood looking out of the window (to make use of the homely term), crying their eyes out.
"Where is your mistress?" demanded Sir Osborne, as he entered; the agitation of his own feelings, and the alarm he conceived from the strange disarray of the apartment, making him stint his form of speech to the fewest words possible.
"We do not know, sir," replied one of the desolate damsels. "All that we know is, that she is gone."