"I know I did," answered Sir Harry Grey; "once let me know a man's folly, and I will pink you him to the quick, if his skin be as thick and hard as a German gambesoon.--Not that he thinks of marrying fair Lucy himself; but it is his hatred to the Monthermers touches him."
"Faith, you're mistaken," rejoined Sir Andrew Geary, who was one of those keen-sighted men who seem intuitively to see into men's motives, under whatsoever specious disguises they may endeavour to conceal them--"faith, you are mistaken. This Richard de Ashby is one of more ambition than you believe. He knows right well, that in the many accidents of the day the good Lord Alured may find his way to the kingdom of Heaven, and then--though he be now but the poor kinsman, treated not so well as many a worthy retainer of the house--he becomes heir presumptive to the title, though to none of the lands, except the small estate of Ashby. It would suit him but little to see Hugh of Monthermer, as the husband of the heiress, sweep up the whole wealth of the house. What he will try," added Sir Andrew, musing, "I do not know; but be sure he will do something to break the marriage--if there be any truth in the story at all."
"Then Monthermer will cut his throat," replied Sir Harry Grey, "and there will be an end of it. But now what say you to the dice, Geary? let us try a cast or two."
"Not I," answered Sir Andrew Geary; "I am not in the mood. I am not well to-night, and shall betake me to my rest."
"I will throw with you, Grey," cried a young man from the other side of the room. "Geary's wings are drooping like a sick hen's. Don't you see? So let him go and carry himself to the isle of pipkins, and seek some stewed prunes for his queasy stomach. I am with you till cock crow, if your purse be long enough, and the wine good."
CHAPTER XXVI.
Richard de Ashby mounted the stairs with a slow step, paused at the first landing-place and grasped his forehead with his extended hand, then turned upon his steps; and, descending to the kitchen, in which were seated an immense number of various classes, he beckoned to one of his servants, who was near the fire-place.
The man started up, and came to him at the door, when his master said, in a low tone, "You must take your horse as soon as he is fed, and speed across the country as if for life and death, to bear a letter from me to the Lord Alured, in Cumberland.--Have every thing ready in an hour."
"What! to-night, sir?" demanded the servant.
"Ay, to-night, villain!" replied his master; "to-night, I say!--Do you grumble?" and without waiting for any further answer, he turned, and once more ascended the stairs.