“Then keep my secret,” said Ian, “and give Mistress Aline the buckle without a soul knowing it. While I am about it,” he added, “I will take this chatelaine, and that will do for the other little mistress.”
“Then it was not only in Scotland that you knew Mistress Aline,” remarked Walter, looking at him shrewdly.
Ian was half sorry that he had said so much, he might have enclosed the chatelaine for Audry without telling Walter Margrove; but he said off-handedly;—“The Gillespies lived in Scotland, but were cousins of Richard Mowbray. I have never seen him, but I know he has a daughter.”
“Ay, he has a daughter, and she would be worth going some way to see too; only she is outshone by her cousin. But Mistress Audry is a bonnie lassockie and will make a fine woman. Yet it’s a pity the Mowbrays have no boy. It’s a sad thing for the family to die out.”
Both men were silent for a time and then Margrove spoke. He looked at Ian questioningly,—“I believe I have seen your face before,” he said; “your name’s not James Mitchell.” He gave the fire a stir, and as the flame shot up he said, “Were you ever at Northampton?”
“I was,” said Ian.
“Then you are the man to whom I owe everything. Why did I not recognise you before? I have heard they had seized you and I heard afterwards that you had escaped to France,—see this,” he went on, drawing a small copy of the New Testament from his doublet. “I have not the courage to go about as you do; but I too have done a little, and, if need be, I hope I shall have strength not to deny the faith.”
There was silence again, this time Ian spoke. “I wonder if you know where a Greek Testament could be obtained, you travel much and see many things.”
“It is strange that you should say that. I have two concealed in an inner pouch in my pack, that have come over from Amsterdam and I was taking them to Master Shipley near York, who had asked me to obtain one for him.”
“Then will you let me have the better one and take it along with the buckle?”