"Nay, I'd rather you spoke it in your own voice," said Millicent, ere she realised.
Ravenshaw's heart bounded.
"'Slight, what fool's talk!" she added, quickly, in chagrin. "I do indeed forget the other maid!"
"What other maid?" he asked, off his guard.
"The maid you are to marry, of course."
"Oh!—faith, yes, I forgot her, too!" he answered, truly enough.
"Fie, Master Holyday!" she said, pride bidding her assume the mask of raillery.
"Holyday, say you?" called out an insolent, derisive voice, at which both Ravenshaw and Millicent started in surprise, for it came from within the garden. A moment later, a head was thrust forth from the shrubbery by the gate,—the head of Master Jerningham's man Gregory, who had patiently hounded Ravenshaw all afternoon and evening, and had slipped in when Sir Peregrine had left the gate unclosed.
"Holyday, forsooth!" he went on, instantly alive to the opportunity of serving his master by shattering the falsely won confidence he saw between the maid and Ravenshaw. "You are cozened, mistress. The man's name is not Holyday; 'tis Ravenshaw—and a scurvy name he has made of it, too!"