“My Lord Raby,” Betty said quietly, “I see my uncle and my Lady Crabtree coming through the orchard; did my uncle come with you?”
“I must have my answer,” he exclaimed, between hope and doubt, still detaining her hand though he heard the others coming.
“Bethink you,” she said proudly, “I should be but a portionless bride.”
“To me the noblest and the richest in the kingdom,” he exclaimed.
She looked at him with radiant eyes.
“Sir,” she said roguishly, “my uncle calleth thee!”
CHAPTER XXI
A MESSENGER FROM LONDON
In the strange house upon the Thames, the wizard entertained a guest in a small, dark room upon the lower floor. There was a low chimney in the corner, and on the hearth some logs were burning; over it was swung a kettle, the steam issuing from its iron lips proclaiming, by its unsavory odor, some tea of herbs. On the table in the center of the room were two sealed packets, one large, the other small, and near this table sat the wizard and his friend, Sir Barton Henge. The outer shutters being closed, there was no light in the place except the red glare of the fire which flickered on the faces of these two, and cast their shadows magnified upon the wall behind. A strange couple, strangely fitted for mischief.
“Anne Boleyn is sentenced,” Henge said moodily; “my lord of Northumberland was carried fainting from the court.”
“Let the drab die!” retorted the wizard, with indifference; “as for Percy, he is a fool. In spite of all, he is firm for the king and Cromwell; there are others whom we will get. Yet this woman’s death will go far to heal the differences between this realm and Rome; the pope but fears the emperor, and the emperor’s aunt is now avenged. Happily, however, the visitation of the monasteries sets ill on the stomachs of the common folk.”