"Bring him into the hall," she said. "Get beer and some food, and blow the fire up."
Janet vanished.
When the mistress came down five minutes later, all had been done as she had ordered. The turf and wood fire leaped in the chimney; a young man, still with his hat on his head and drawn down a little over his face, was sitting over the hearth, steaming like a kettle, eating voraciously. Janet was waiting discreetly by the doors. Marjorie nodded to her, and she went out; she had learned that her mistress's secrets were not always her own as well.
"I am Mistress Manners," she said. "You have a letter for me?"
The young man stood up.
"I know you well enough, mistress," he said. "I am John Merton's son."
Marjorie's heart leaped with relief. In spite of her determination that this must be a letter from a priest, there had still thrust itself before her mind the possibility that it might be that other letter whose coming she had feared. She had told herself fiercely as she came downstairs just now, that it could not be. No news was come from Fotheringay all the winter; it was common knowledge that her Grace had a priest of her own. And now that this was John Merton's son—
She smiled.
"Give me the letter," she said. "I should have known you, too, if it were not for the dark."
"Well, mistress," he said, "the letter was to be delivered to you, Mr.
Melville said; but—"