"Read me the riddle, Lady Kate," he said at last. "I guess thy errand to these parts, and his is clear enough—perchance too clear!—but why, if thou must trick him out in morris-dress, why bring him here? Nay!"—as the lady would have spoken—"fear nothing; I like the jest thus far, but comprehend it only in part."
"My Lord Duke," the lady said, throwing back her hair with a proud gesture, "we were children together,—you and I,—you will credit my word. I knew not till this moment that he was here, but deemed him—left—behind on the field. And I came hither, not in your despite, or your dread brother's, but to warn my friend here, Sir Hereward, of treason menacing him in his own camp; and to that end, on Friday night, sent I a letter to him where he lay, by my own servant's hand."
"This is the letter," said Sir Hereward simply, drawing from his breast the folded paper with its broken seal.
The Prince bent forward, took the missive, spread it out upon his knee, and read carefully through from first to last. "I grieve to learn of your good sire's death," he said once, lifting his eyes, and then read on, musingly. At last he smiled, and shook his head.
"I have full knowledge—none better, Lady Kate," he said, "of thy high spirits and brave temper. Thou wert of the mettle of knights-errant even in short clothes. But what I looked not for was this clerkly hand, this deft scrolling of lines and letters." Still with dancing eyes he held the paper up before the Earl Marshal. "Why, look you, cousin of Norfolk! 'Tis as fair as any guild work from Bruges. And from a woman's hand, mark ye!"
The lady hung her head and blushed, then, lifting it, smiled. "Your Grace ever loved his jest," she said. "Alas, I am no clerk, nor would be with a thousand years of teaching. I could more easily ride, by night and day, across from Devon to save my—my friend, than mark a straight line on paper."
"And who writ ye this?" pursued Richard, eying the scroll afresh.
"A youth in the Abbey," said the lady, and Sir Hereward pointed him out where he sat.
Then suddenly Hugh, staring vaguely at all this, heard some one say in his ear that his Grace had called for him, and felt another push him to his feet—and then saw, as through a golden fog, that the Prince held up a jewelled finger, beckoning to him. The boys heart thumped to his throat with every step as he moved to the dais.
"It is thy hand, eh?" Duke Richard asked, with kindly voice, and the lad could only bow and blush. One of the old men at the table had brought forward as well the scrolls on which Hugh had written the day's grim record, and the Prince glanced over these with a student's lingering eye. Then, with a quaint smile and sigh, he said:—