"A tall strong man with an iron-grey beard and a grey ashen countenance; one who speaks with a rough harsh voice."
"Sir Charles hath a yellow beard, brown hair, and hath a sweet mellow voice," he replied. "Ay, but he is cleverer than any play-actor in London. Besides, he knows that just now the search is somewhat lax, seeing that every one is at Dover waiting to welcome the new King."
"Then—then——"
"Ah, more I may not tell you. Ay, and seek to know no more, Master Roland. The chase cannot last long: she will be taken, and then God have mercy on her!"
"And Sir Charles?"
A cloud crossed his face, and that harsh, cruel look which I had seen in his eyes when first we met came back.
"Who knows?" he snarled. "Who knows, if he——but enough of that, Master Roland. There is something of more importance. There is that for which you came hither; your fate, and perchance mine, depend on that."