I was in little fear of arrest, on the charge of treason, for which Sir George held the Royal warrant, as I judged I could prevail on Sir William Phips to let so old a matter rest.
As I walked up the broad steps, having left Kit in the roadway, I was met at the door by a very proud-looking serving man.
“We want no beggars here,” he said, and I remembered, with a start, my disordered and mud-stained clothes. I was not at all nice in appearance; a veritable beggar on horseback, and wearing a sword at my side; a strange sight, doubtless.
“I am no beggar,” I said, roughly, for I was in no mood for trifling. “Stand aside,” I went on, placing my hand on my sword, “for I must see Sir William.”
“Then you must get wings,” answered the man, smiling, and becoming more respectful, “for the Governor sailed for London yesterday.”
Here was something I had not counted on.
“Is there no one here who knows aught of his affairs?” I asked. “I must make some inquiries concerning a certain person.”
The servant said I might see the Governor’s private clerk, and he ushered me into a room where a middle-aged man sat writing. To him I related how I had come to Boston seeking a maid, Lucille de Guilfort, who was my promised wife, and who, I said, I feared had met with some harm, or was detained, since she had not been heard of in three weeks. She would have called on the Governor on a private matter, I remarked, but I did not say what it was, for even in Boston some folks were witch-crazed.
The Governor’s man listened carefully, and asked me to describe Lucille to him. When I had done so, he said:
“I recall, now, that about three weeks ago, such a maid came here, and was closeted with His Excellency for about an hour. I remember, because that day, I had upset the hour glass, and also on that day----”