'Nay, I know not,' replied Cicely, with a look of that sort of humility, much used by her class, which is very near of kin to defiance. 'Unless it were to take order for his poor worship's funeral with the elect that be there.'
'What say you?' roared Sir Fulke, 'you pestilent, canting scrag-end of Eve's flesh! What, by the fat of the fiend, has your Calvinistic knave of a husband to do with a gentleman's funeral? Knows he not, the dog, that it is I who shall order his master's affairs? Is this all that comes of Festing's boasted discipline? I told him he was wrong, he was always wrong; and here's the end of it. The elect, too,—the elect knaves, the elect devils! Do you think, you canting jade, that because Mary is dead you shall play what pranks you like with a gentleman's body? By this light, you misjudge Henry's and Mistress Anne's daughter if your thick heads think that.'
By this time Sir Fulke had railed himself clean out of breath, and as he ceased we could hear the sound of horses' feet in the courtyard.
'Run, lads,' said Sir Fulke, 'and if that be Miles bring him before me.'
To the door we went, and sure enough found Miles had returned, but not alone. Dismounting from their shabby jades were two men, dressed all in black. One of them I knew by sight, having seen him about Chatham and Rochester. He had a round, red face, with a shrewd, solid look in it, and dancing blue eyes full of merriment, which even now, though I think he tried to look as grave as he could, he was unable to get master of. His companion was a grave, dark-eyed man, of dull complexion, whose look repelled me as much as the other's attracted.
'Peace be on this house,' the two men chimed when they had finished tumbling off their horses, which they did in so clumsy a manner as even then, almost made me laugh. 'Peace; and be its sorrow comforted.'
The red-faced man then came forward up the steps, and took my hand so kindly that I felt at once that I had found a new friend.
'Master Festing,' said he, 'I know you, and desire your worship's better acquaintance. Me you know not, though I was your good father's friend. He would not have it so known; but let that pass. Know me for Master Drake, of Chatham, sometime preacher to his Majesty's fleet, and soon to be again, let us hope, now the evil times be overpast and joyful days be come again for all true Reformation men.'
His black clothes were very shabby, and of old-fashioned cut, and there came with him up the steps and into the hall a savoury smell of tar and the sea.
'Yes, my lad,' went on Mr. Drake, for 'your worship' was quite out of tune with his kind, fatherly way, 'this is an hour of sorrow for you, but one of joy for England. A weight is lifted from England's heart, and yours shall rise with hers. For, saving a decent grief for your father's loss, no true Englishman should weep when his country claps her hands and leaps with gladness.'