“So rumor hath it, Francis. ’Twas said that they have set sail already, but I know not the truth of the matter.”
“Thou art not much changed,” said Francis presently.
“But thou art, Francis. Thou art taller, and thinner; yea, and paler,” observed Devereaux with such a note of compassion in his voice that Francis flushed. The youth noted her annoyance and added quickly: “And still do you wear the dress of a page? Fie, Francis! art so enamored of male attire?”
“Nay; Master Devereaux,” replied Francis. “I marvel that I tell thee why I do so, seeing that it concerns thee not, but I wish not to don my maiden dress until my father bids me. How long that will be, I trow not, since I have heard naught of him since I came to this place.”
“Thy father dwells in France. He with some others of the conspirators succeeded in escaping to that country.”
“And Lord Shrope? How is he? Fain would I know, for truly he hath been mine only friend in this dire time of need.” 282
“Lord Shrope hath been in the Netherlands for nigh two years past, Francis.”
“Marry, child!” exclaimed Mrs. Shelton. “Then it could not have been he who sent thee all those things.”
“No; who, who could it have been? Methought in all England I had no friend but him. Would that I knew the donor’s name that I might cherish it forever.”
“’Twas thine enemy, Francis. Oh, stupid girl, where are thine eyes! See, his looks betray him,” laughed Mrs. Shelton.