I crouched in the curtains of the great bed as the latch clicked and the room filled with the soft glow of a candle; a moment's silence, then:
"O Marjorie, I'll wear the green taffety in the morning. Nay indeed, I'll be my own tirewoman to-night."
The light was borne across the room; then coming softly to the door I closed it and, setting my back against it, leaned there. At the small sound I made she turned and, beholding me, shrank back, and I saw the candlestick shaking in her hand ere she set it down upon the carved press beside her.
"Who is it—who is it?" she questioned breathlessly, staring at my bruised and swollen features.
"A rogue you had dragged lifeless to the pillory!"
"You?" she breathed. "You! And they set you in the pillory? 'Twas by no order of me."
"'Tis no matter, lady, here was just reward for a rogue," says I. "But now I seek Sir Richard—"
"Nay indeed—indeed you shall not find him here."
"That will I prove for myself!" says I, and laid hand on latch.
"Sir," says she in the same breathless fashion, "why will you not believe me? Seek him an you will, but I tell you Sir Richard sailed into the Spanish Main two years since and was lost."