Master Ambrose gave a snort of impatience, but Master Nathaniel said with a good-humoured laugh, "So that's how you think the wives of the Senators spend their time, eh? I'm afraid they've other things to do. And as to yourself, aren't you getting too old for dancing?"
A slight shadow passed across her clear eyes. Then she tossed her head with the noble gesture of a wild creature, and cried, "No! No! As long as my heart dances my feet will too. And nobody will grow old when the Duke comes back."
But Master Ambrose could contain himself no longer. He knew only too well Nat's love of listening to long rambling talk—especially when there happened to be some serious business on hand.
"Come, come," he cried in a stern voice, "in spite of being crack-brained, my good woman, you may soon find yourself dancing to another tune. Unless you tell us in double quick time who exactly these gentlemen are, and who it was that put you on guard here, and who brings that filthy fruit, and who takes it away, we will ... why, we will cut the fiddle strings that you dance to!"
This threat was a subconscious echo of the last words he had heard spoken by Moonlove. Its effect was instantaneous.
"Cut the fiddle strings! Cut the fiddle strings!" she wailed; adding coaxingly, "No, no, pretty master, you would never do that! Would he now?" and she turned appealingly to Master Nathaniel. "It would be like taking away the poor man's strawberries. The Senator has peaches and roasted swans and peacock's hearts, and a fine coach to drive in, and a feather bed to lie late in of a morning. And the poor man has black bread and baked haws, and work ... but in the summer he has strawberries and tunes to dance to. No, no, you would never cut the fiddle strings!"
Master Nathaniel felt a lump in his throat. But Master Ambrose was inexorable: "Yes, of course I would!" he blustered; "I'd cut the strings of every fiddle in Lud. And I will, too, unless you tell us what we want to know. Come, Mother Tibbs, speak out—I'm a man of my word."
She gazed at him beseechingly, and then a look of innocent cunning crept into her candid eyes and she placed a finger on her lips, then nodded her head several times and said in a mysterious whisper, "If you'll promise not to cut the fiddle strings I'll show you the prettiest sight in the world—the sturdy dead lads in the Fields of Grammary hoisting their own coffins on their shoulders, and tripping it over the daisies. Come!" and she darted to the side of the wall, drew aside the tapestry and revealed to them another secret door. She pressed some spring, it flew open disclosing another dark tunnel.
"Follow me, pretty masters," she cried.
"There's nothing to be done," whispered Master Nathaniel, "but to humour her. She may have something of real value to show us."