"H'm—not far from the water stairs. But he knows my address. So come, Master Landlord, have with you, and find me a fresh horse. And pray be quick about it, for if I would sleep at home to-night, I must be brisk. I cry your pardon, Mistress Sheppard. You were about to speak?" he added in courteous tones, as he perceived his hostess smoothing her apron, and her lips opening and shutting, and opening again.
A fair visitor.
"So please you, there is one," answered Mistress Sheppard. "Nay, names matter little. One who earnestly desires an audience—a word with you, before you go. A young girl—"
"Let her come in," said Charles with animation.
CHAPTER XXXI.
RUMSEY MEETS HIS MATCH.
"Mistress, your servant," said the king, his voice dropping to a gentle gravity, as the door opened, and disclosed the gray-clad figure of Ruth Rumbold. "What can we do for you?" he added, striving to conceal the curiosity he could not but feel at sight of the pale face, and the sad wearied look of the beautiful downcast eyes. "Or do you perhaps bring me the reckoning?" he went on, as, encouraged by his kindly tones, she tendered him a large folded paper which she carried in her hand, making a profound curtsey as she did so, at the same time lifting her eyes to his friendly gaze, so that he could read in them of the heart too full for words.
"Ods-fish, it must be something of a heavy one!" he added laughingly, as he turned the paper about, examining its seal; "but it bears no superscription, Mistress—Mistress—are you not Mistress Ruth Rumbold?" She curtseyed again, "It bears no superscription?" he reiterated, and hesitating to break open the seal.
"It is meant for your—your—"
"Worship," prompted Mistress Sheppard.