Sir Michael's voice rose somewhat higher, while his utterance became slower and more severe, as he answered this fellow.
"You mistake," said he, "for none is master here save I alone. And I will tell you, Master Sergeant, that, though I have admitted you to my house in the hope to do His Majesty the King a service, I do not purpose to endure in this house any show of ill manners such as your regiment is commonly noised to show toward helpless yokels and misguided rebels."
The sergeant's voice was still surly, but had in it a degree more of respect, as he replied that Sir Michael talked a deal of doing His Majesty a service, but when they came hot on the track of a rebel who had slain one that held His Majesty's commission, and was not yet well cold, he fell at once to putting obstacles in the way; that he was informed by his scouts that the man was seen not half an hour back making for this house; that he did but wish to make thorough search for the young murderer, with all fit observance of respect for His Majesty's loyal subjects, and search every room in that house he would before he left it. And inside the chamber, when he heard that the man was indeed dead, poor Ned shuddered beneath the bedclothes, and I, sitting on the other side, did lay my hand upon him for comfort. At that time, when I knew nothing but the man was dead, I thought no ill of my friend for the killing. If Ned Royston should slay a man, why, to me, the man was better dead. Later, hearing the whole tale, I was like to have been jealous of little Prudence Emmet, for whom the man was killed. Yet I wondered not that he shuddered, for I had heard my father say that it does take an old soldier long years to forget the first shedding of blood.
I heard one tearless and hard kind of sob from the dear lad, while my heart was sore that I could not speak in consolation, and then gave ear to my father's answer to the sergeant, which was very calmly delivered: "That we shall see, Master Sergeant. I have held no mean rank in the armies of his late Majesty, King Charles I., from wounds received in whose cause I shall not be recovered this side the grave, from which you are to understand what manner of bearing I am wont to receive from inferiors in rank. Moreover, I am greatly at fault if I have not still some credit at Whitehall—enough, at least, Master Sergeant, to make me a safer friend than enemy. I shall thank you for a sight of your search-warrant."
To which the sergeant: "Indeed, Sir Michael, I have none. In these ill times, with so much treason abroad, we do not think much of a warrant. But I am under a great necessity in what I do. Our colonel is no man to take soft words as atonement for the death of an officer after his own heart. I must report in the town of Taunton at noon to-morrow, and I dare not take thither this story of murder without the murderer. You talk well of warrants, sir, but there is none of us but fears Colonel Kirke worse than the law."
And on the other side of the door I did most heartily agree with this sergeant of Queen Catharine's Regiment of Foot. But my father continued: "I perceive, sergeant, that you are a man of some parts and education. Let us meet each other thus—I to summon my daughter, and, after a space, you and I alone of all these to enter the chamber." At which words my heart did sink to the place where the shoes had been but for my resolve, at any cost to nicer feeling, of showing unprepared.
And, the sergeant heartily consenting, Sir Michael himself rapped upon the door, and I still keeping silence (knowing I must open, yet not thinking it to be wise too soon to hear him, when I had been deaf to the sergeant), he next tried the latch, and, finding the door fast, knocked louder, and very gently called my name. Whereat I groaned, sighed, and cried, as one waking from sleep, "What is to do? Who is it, and what is wanted?"
And my father answered, "It is I, your father. Cloak yourself, Philippa, and open to me."
Whereupon I made my first mistake; for, to the end they might think I had heard nothing but my father's summons, I left my cloak lying upon the bed, and ran in my white gown, and barefoot, to the door, and suddenly flung it wide, when the glare of the lights that several did carry gave me the appearance of blinking with sleep the most naturally in the world. Then, putting a hand before my eyes to keep off the suddenness of the light, I said, with a little sharpness: "Well, sir, why am I roused? Does the house burn, or are Kirke and his Lambs at the door?"
And my father replied, with the first note of trepidation in his voice that I had ever heard, "Hush, child! All is well. There is no fire."