“Sir Richard Mowbray, I pray you tell Lord Rippingdale that he is welcome—as commissioner of the King.”
Mowbray smiled and bowed.
“My lord begs me to ask that you will come forth and speak with him, Sir John?”
“My compliments to Lord Rippingdale, Sir Richard, and say that I can better entertain his Majesty’s commissioner within my own house.”
“And all who wait with him?” asked the young officer, with a dry sort of smile.
“My lord, and his officers and gentlemen, but not his troopers.”
Mowbray bowed, and as he lifted his head again he saw the face of Mistress Felicity looking through the doorway of the library. Their eyes met. On a sudden a new impulse came to his thoughts.
“Sir John Enderby,” said he, “I know how honourable a man you are, and I think I know the way you feel. But, as one gentleman to another, permit me a word of counsel. ‘Twere better to humour my Lord Rippingdale, and to yield up to the King’s demands, than to lose all. Lack of money and estate—that is hard enough on a single man like me, but with a gentleman who has the care of a daughter, perhaps”—his look again met the young lady’s face—“the case is harder. A little yielding on your part—”
“I will not yield,” was Enderby’s reply.
Mowbray bowed once more, and retired without more speaking.