An expression of amazement tinged with superstitious dread came over his companion’s face.
“How in the fiend’s name do you track men out?” he asked.
The wizard pointed upward. “The stars, noble sir,” he answered meekly; “my poor art.”
“Who is this beauty?” Sir Barton demanded sharply; “you know well enough.”
“Ay, I know,” replied Sanders, calmly; “no velvet-tempered kitten, either. ’Tis Sir William’s niece, the daughter of that rake, Sir Thomas.”
Sir Barton, uttering an exclamation of profane surprise, opened the door and walked into the public room, leaving the wizard alone in the little closet.
Sir William Carew was talking with the host, while in a retired corner, near the entrance, stood Mistress Betty, and beside her, Master Raby. The young girl’s mantle was muffled about her shoulders, but her hood had fallen back a little, revealing enough of the face beneath to draw the attention of many of the guests. But she was so busily engaged in talking to her companion that she was unconscious of the admiring glances cast in her direction. A servant had brought some hot drinks for the party and would have set a table for them, but this Sir William refused, saying that he was pressed for time. Sir Barton walked up to him, to be received in no very friendly fashion, Carew’s greeting indicating plainly that he desired no company upon the road. After an ineffectual attempt at conversation, the other drew back haughtily, but stood watching Mistress Betty, until the persistency of his gaze attracted the attention of her cavalier, who moved between, giving the offender a hard glance that was intended to teach him better manners. It was returned in kind, the two men looking defiance at each other over the heads of those who sat at the tables. In a few moments, however, Sir William led his party out again to resume their journey. As Raby helped Betty into the saddle, he saw the tall man standing on the threshold of the inn.
“Your uncle’s friend must needs follow still, Mistress Carew,” he remarked; “the impudent knave never took his eyes from your face; he deserves chastisement.”
Betty laughed softly. “Nay, sir,” she said in an amused tone, “surely the curiosity of a stranger is no great offence.”
“I should be the happier for laying my sword across his shoulders, for all that,” retorted her companion.