“I’ll get the sealing-wax,” observed the Baron, and went to a cabinet.
“This room is stifling,” cried Geoffrey. “I shall burst soon, I think.”
“It’s my mulled Malvoisie you’re not accustomed to,” Sir Godfrey said, as he rummaged in the cabinet. “Open the window and get some fresh air, my lad. Now where the deuce is my family seal?”
As Geoffrey opened the window, a soft piece of snow flew through the air and dropped lightly on his foot. He looked quickly and perceived a man’s shadow jutting into the moonlight from an angle in the wall. Immediately he plunged out through the casement, which was not very high.
“Merciful powers!” said the Rev. Hucbald, letting fall his quill and spoiling the first invitation, “what an impulsive young man! Why, he has run clean round the corner.”
“’Tis all my Malvoisie,” said the Baron, hugely delighted, and hurrying to the window. “Come back when you’re sober!” he shouted after Geoffrey with much mirth. Then he shut the window.
“These French heads never can weather English brews,” he remarked to the Chaplain. “But I’ll train the boy in time. He is a rare good lad. Now, to work.”
Out in the snow, Geoffrey with his sword drawn came upon Hubert.
“Thou mayest sheathe that knife,” said the latter.
“And be thy quarry?” retorted Geoffrey.