"Silence, lout, or I swing you sky-high. To your mother without a word."
Poor Falve, in a cold sweat, obeyed. They found the old lady making breathless preparations for departure.
"Mother," began Falve, "my Lord Galors—"
"Peace, fool!" broke in Galors. "Dame," he said civilly, "I must thank you for the great charge you have been at with a certain lady much in both our hearts. No doubt she has spoken to you of Messire Prosper le Gai. Madam, I am he."
"As God is great," Falve cried, "I could have sworn the lord of this town was Messire Galors de Born."
"And so he was but yesterday," said Galors. "But now I hold it for the
Countess Isabel."
The old woman was convinced at this name. She caught Galors by the arm.
"And will you take back the lamb to the dam?" she bleated.
"That is all I ask," replied Galors, speaking the truth.
"You may catch her, Messire—you may catch her. Ah, if I could only have known of you yester-e'en! She's had but seven hours' start of you. Take the path for Thornyhold Brush, and you'll find her. Jesu Christ! when I saw the bleeding bird again I could have died, had there not been better work before me."