The following morning another rumour was abroad—to the effect that his lordship was now occupied in questioning the stars as to who in the castle had aided the young roundhead in making his escape.
In the evening, soon after supper, there came a gentle tap to the door of lady Margaret's parlour. At that time she was understood to be disengaged, and willing to see any of the household. Harry happened to be with her, and she sent him to the door to see who it was.
'It is Tom Fool,' he said, returning. 'He begs speech of you, madam—with a face as long as the baker's shovel, and a mouth as wide as an oven-door.'
With their Irish stepmother the children took far greater freedoms than would have been permitted them by the jealous care of their own mother over their manners.
Lady Margaret smiled: this was probably the first fruit of her husband's astrological investigations.
'Tell him he may enter, and do thou leave him alone with me, Harry,' she said.
Allowing for exaggeration, Harry had truly reported Tom's appearance. He was trembling from head to foot, and very white.
'What aileth thee, Tom, that thou lookest as thou had seen a hobgoblin?' said lady Margaret.
'Please you, my lady,' answered Tom, 'I am in mortal terror of my lord Herbert.'
'Then hast thou been doing amiss, Tom? for no well-doer ever yet was afeard of my lord. Comest thou because thou wouldst confess the truth?'