"The same. Way to pass, please you. And answer."
Roger Barnet was a man of middle height; bodily, of a good thickness and great solidity; a man with a bold, square face, a frown, cold eyes, a short black beard; a keeper of his own counsel, a man of the fewest possible words, and those gruffly spoken. Anne, because her mind was working upon other matter, took no offence at his sharp, discourteous, mandatory style of addressing her. Without heeding his demand for way, she said:
"Sir Valentine hath indeed passed! See how he dealt with my servants when I tried to stay him! Are you magistrate's men?"
"I am a messenger of the queen," said Barnet, deigning an answer because, on looking more closely at her horses, a certain idea had come to him.
"In pursuit of Sir Valentine?" she asked.
"With a warrant for his apprehension," was the reply.
"What! For my brother's death? Hath her Majesty heard—"
"For high treason; and if these be your horses, in the queen's name—"
But Mistress Hazlehurst cut short his speech, in turn.