"What, old Thomas Sprat! Is he alive still?" asked Paul with interest.
"He is alive and well," said Jack more puzzled than ever. "Do you then know my uncle and the family at the Hall?"
"Yes—that is, I was once in the family of Sir John for a time," said Paul with evident embarrassment. "Is the good knight well?"
"He is well, or was so last week," said Jack. "I saw him in the market-place a few days since. He hath grown very gray of late years, but still holds his own."
Paul sighed. "And my—I would say, my lady—have you ever seen her?"
"Oh, yes, often while I was at Holford," replied Jack. "She goes about among the poor people a great deal, but rarely visits among the gentry since her son's death."
"She believes him dead then," murmured the stranger so low that Jack could but just catch the words.
He answered them as if they had been addressed to him quietly, but with his heart beating fast as a wild idea occurred to his mind.
"My lady thinks him dead, and has caused many masses to be sung for him; but the knight will not believe it. They say he keeps his son's room in the same order in which the poor young gentleman left it, when he went to college, and he will not suffer his son's old dog to be killed, though the poor old beast can hardly crawl from the hearth to the hall door. I have often marvelled much how the young master could leave such a kind father."
"Because he was a fool," said Paul vehemently, "a gull, a thrice-sodden ass; an ape who must needs mimic what others did, and ruffle it in silk and gold with the sons of court favorites and noblemen."