They stood grouped about the steps, too anxious to retire from them, yet each trying to put a good face on the matter. Having been recognized, Betty had removed her mask and stood farthest from the stairs. There was an uneasy pause as they waited, and in it they heard a step at the outer entrance; before they could decide how to receive a new-comer, the black curtain was lifted, and Sir Barton Henge entered the room.
“How did he pass the guard below?” whispered Bryan to Raby, and both looked askance at the intruder, Raby’s face flushing with anger.
Recognizing at once that this was a party from the palace, Henge made a graceful obeisance to the women, and was greeted both by Lady Rochford and Mistress Gaynsford with some show of cordiality. Divining, doubtless, who was within the wizard’s secret chamber, he took his place amongst them, but singled out Betty Carew as the object of his attention. Approaching the young girl, he began to whisper to her in spite of her indignant gesture of disdain. Her instinctive horror of him gaining control of her already agitated mind, she shrank farther into the corner, casting an appealing glance at Simon Raby, who instantly responded. He pushed roughly past Sir Barton and began to talk to Betty, turning his back squarely in the face of her less favored wooer. Henge paused a moment astounded, his face crimson with wrath, and then he plucked Raby by the sleeve. Simon turned upon him with an air that was in itself an insult.
“Sir,” he said, “was it you, or the devil, that touched my sleeve?”
“It had better have been the devil for your sake, Master Raby,” cried Henge, fiercely. “I was speaking to Mistress Carew; mayhap you are blind and deaf and knew it not.”
“And I am speaking to her now,” said Raby, with a mocking laugh; “therefore, sir, go to the devil!”
Henge laid his hand upon his sword.
“You will answer for this insult,” he said. “I would have you know that Mistress Carew is my affianced wife.”
At this, Betty came forward, her face white but her eyes on fire.
“I call you all to witness the baseness of this man,” she said. “When I was yet unborn a dishonorable and wicked contract was made that he now claims against me. I utterly repudiate it, and my uncle, Sir William Carew, of Mohun’s Ottery, doth uphold me. I swear, and Heaven is my witness, that I would rather mate with the veriest beggar at Saint Paul’s Cross than wed with this man!”