"Merely because I have nothing to say," replied the knight, gravely; "except that at Sittenbourne, where you did me the honour of eating with me, though not with my horsemen, I did not perceive that Lady Katrine Bulmer was, in any respect, either like a beggar or ballad-singer."
"Oh! very well, sir knight; very well!" she said. "If you choose to be offended I cannot help it."
"You mistake me, lady," said Sir Osborne, "I am not offended."
"Well then, sir, I am," replied Lady Katrine, making him a cold stiff inclination of the head. "So we had better say no more upon the subject."
At this moment Longpole, who with the rest of the attendants followed at about fifty paces behind, rode forward, and put a small folded paper into Sir Osborne's hands. "A letter, sir, which you dropped," said he aloud; "I picked it up this moment."
The knight looked at the address, and the small silken braid which united the two seals; and finding that it was directed to Lord Darby at York House, Westminster, was about to return it to Longpole, saying it was none of his, when his eye fell upon Lady Katrine, whose head, indeed, was turned away, but whose neck and ear were burning with so deep a red, that Sir Osborne doubted not she had some deep and blushing interest in the paper he held in his hand. "Thank you, Longpole! thank you," he said, "I would not have lost it for a hundred marks;" and he fastened it securely in the foldings of his scarf.
Though he could willingly have punished his fair companion for her little capricious petulance, the knight could not bear to keep her in the state of agitation under which, by the painful redness of her cheek and the quivering of her hand on the bridle, he very evidently saw she was suffering. "I think your ladyship was remarking," said he, calmly, "that it was the height of dishonour and baseness to take advantage of anything that happens to fall in our power, or any secret with which we become acquainted accidentally. I not only agree with you so far, but I think even that a jest upon such a subject is hardly honourable. We should strive, if possible, to be as if we did not know it."
Lady Katrine turned her full sunny face towards him, glowing like a fair evening cloud when the last rays of daylight rest upon it: "You are a good, an excellent creature," she said, "and worthy to be a knight. Sir Osborne Maurice," she continued, after a moment's pause, "your good opinion is too estimable to be lightly lost, and to preserve it I must speak to you in a manner that women dare seldom speak. And yet, though on my word, I would trust you as I would a brother, I know not how----I cannot, indeed I cannot. And yet I must, and will, for fear of misconstruction. You saw that letter. You can guess that he to whom it is addressed is not indifferent to the writer. They are affianced to each other by all vows, but those vows are secret ones; for the all-powerful Wolsey will not have it so, and we must needs seem, at least, to obey. Darby has been some time absent from the court, and I was sent to the abbey. What would you have more? I promised to give instant information of my return; and last night I spent in writing that letter, though now I know not in truth how to send it, for my groom is but a pensioned spy upon me."
"Will you trust it to me?" said the knight. The lady paused. "Do you doubt me?" he asked.
"Not in the least," she said; "not in the least. My only doubt is whether I shall send it at all."