“Ay,” replied his companion, “we are like to have Lord Hussey and Darcy, besides the Nevilles and the faction of the White Rose. ’Tis certain we can raise the northern counties when the time is ripe, and then, the devil take me if I be not the first to thrust a sword in Cromwell’s belly!” He rose as he spoke and took up his weapon, handling it as if he loved the thought of the use for which he intended it.
“The devil is very like to have thee, friend,” retorted the wizard, smiling; “but hark! what stir is that without? Some new-comers are in the courtyard.”
Sir Barton walked to the door, and pushing back the slide which had closed the window in the panel, he looked into the public room.
“It is a party of travellers,” he said carelessly; and then changing his tone, “’tis Sir William Carew of Mohun’s Ottery, that young coxcomb Raby, and a woman—a handsome one at that,” he added with an oath.
The wizard, who was watching him as a cat watches a mouse, smiled maliciously.
“Is it a young maid?” he asked, “tall and fine-shaped as Diana, with red cheeks and great brown eyes that sparkle and change at every glance, and with hair like the raven’s wing?”
“You have made a fair description,” the tall man replied, “but, by heaven, you cannot do her justice! She is muffled up, but I saw her face as she came in, and she’s a beauty.”
The wizard laughed again so wickedly that Sir Barton turned on him.
“Thou grinning devil!” he said; “what is sticking in thy gullet?”
“’Tis retribution, sir,” Sanders said coolly; “you discarded a penniless betrothed. Penniless she is, but marvellous fair.”