Lady Crabtree looked up with grim indifference.
“He is a valiant beggar, wench,” she said coolly, “and you know King Henry’s law?”
Betty looked at her with passionate scorn in her young face.
“By heaven, madam,” she cried, “you are a brute!”
Now this honest expression of her own feelings so pleased the strange old woman that she burst into a hearty fit of laughter. Meanwhile the steward and the porter had paused in amazement, and the prisoner stood between them with a look of dogged wretchedness upon his face.
“Go talk to the king’s grace, Mistress Betty,” said old Madam, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes; “this realm is full of these knaves, and we must hang them or they will cut our throats.”
“Is life so cheap?” cried Betty, looking at her with shining eyes; “have we not all to answer for our doings? I pray you, madam, spare this fellow for shame of the herring!”
Lady Crabtree looked thoughtfully at the vagrant, and then some strange notion moved her again to laughter.
“You shall have your will, mistress,” she said; “here, Bronson, go out and get a dozen—nay, twenty stout rods and distribute them.”
The servant went to execute her order, while Betty remained standing, a puzzled expression on her face. In a few moments the company, to the number of sixteen or seventeen, were armed with stout hickory staffs, and Lady Crabtree directed that these men should form in two lines from the door, leaving a small aisle in the middle. This was done, while all the members of the household were on their feet, women and girls and gray-headed men all looking on curiously. The light of day, now much brighter, shone in the room, and many of the tapers were extinguished. When her orders were carried out, Lady Crabtree rose and stood by the table, pointing her finger at the culprit.