The man to whom she had called re-crossed the courtyard with eager steps. There was something strange in his gait and carriage, but the strong sunlight behind him made his image indistinct, and besides, Phœbe was accustomed to eccentricities on the part of this somewhat disreputable acquaintance.
Her astonishment was therefore complete when, on removing his hat as he entered the hallway, this man in New England attire proved to be a complete stranger.
Evidently the gentleman had suffered much from the rudeness of his unwelcome followers, for his face was flushed and his manner constrained and nervous. Bowing slightly, he stood erect just within the door.
"Did you do me the honor of a summons, mistress?" said he.
The look of amazement on Phœbe's face made him bite his lips with increase of annoyance, for he saw in her emotion only renewed evidence of the ridicule to which he had subjected himself.
"I—I crave pardon!" Phœbe stammered. "I fear I took you for another, sir."
"For one Copernicus Droop, and I mistake not!"
"Do you know him?" she faltered in amazement.
"I have met him—to my sorrow, mistress. 'Tis the first time and the last, I vow, that Francis Bacon hath dealt with mountebanks!"
"Francis Bacon!" cried Phœbe, delight and curiosity now added to puzzled amazement. "Is it possible that I see before me Sir Francis Bacon—or rather Lord Verulam, I believe." She dropped a courtesy, to which he returned a grave bow.