“Where is he that would speak with me, Giles?”
“In the east parlor, my lord. I crave forbearance, sir, for placing any in the room which is reserved for your use, but I knew not that you were about to fare this way.”
“Trouble not thyself concerning the matter, good Giles,” returned his lordship. “Come, Francis.”
Tossing his cloak to Francis he strode toward the entrance of the tavern. The girl threw the garment over her arm, started to follow him, and then paused in sheerest confusion at finding the eyes of the myrmidons of the inn upon her.
Donning male attire in her own home had been mere sport, but with the curious eyes of strangers upon her the girl felt painfully embarrassed.
“Look to thyself, boy,” came in sharp tones from her father, and there was a note of warning in the faint emphasis that he placed upon the word boy.
Thus adjured Francis collected her wits, and, looking neither to the right nor to the left, she followed after her father with all the 44 boldness which she could assume. Lord Stafford wended his way to the east parlor of the inn with the air of being perfectly familiar with the place, giving his orders to the rotund host as he went.
“’Tis but a short time that we will trouble thee, Giles,” he said. “Serve us with dinner, I pray you. We will rest for a time, and then speed onward. Anthony,” he ejaculated as the host threw open the door of the chamber, “it is thou?”
“’Tis even I, my lord,” answered a tall young man coming forward. “I had news that you were coming this way and hurried hither to greet you.”
“Right glad am I to see thee, Babington,” was Stafford’s rejoinder. “I have much to say to thee. Hast dined?”