Once more silence fell between them; and the fire grinned wickedly at the mimic fire reflected by the old chest, as though it knew of a most entertaining secret.
"Do you yet live at Winstead?" asked Sir John, half idly.
"Yes," she answered; "in the old house. It is little changed, but there are many changes about."
"Is Moll yet with you that did once carry our letters?"
"Married to Hodge, the tanner," the lady said; "and dead long since."
"And all our merry company?" Sir John demanded. "Marian? And Tom and little Osric? And Phyllis? And Adelais? Zounds, it is like a breath of country air to speak their names once more."
"All dead," she answered, in a hushed voice, "save Adelais, and even to me poor Adelais seems old and strange. Walter was slain in the French wars, and she hath never married."
"All dead," Sir John informed the fire, as if confidentially; then he laughed, though his bloodshot eyes were not merry. "This same Death hath a wide maw! It is not long before you and I, my lady, will be at supper with the worms. But you, at least, have had a happy life."
"I have been content enough," she said, "but all that seems run by; for, John, I think that at our age we are not any longer very happy nor very miserable."
"Faith!" agreed Sir John, "we are both old; and I had not known it, my lady, until to-day."