"He is a dangerous fellow," Ferdinand said thoughtfully, shivering a little. It was unlike him to shiver and shake. But the bravest have their moods.
"Dangerous?" the steward answered. "Ay, he is to some, and sometimes."
Ferdinand Cludde looked sharply at the speaker, as if he suspected him of a covert sneer. But Baldwin's gloomy face betrayed no glint of intelligence or amusement, and the knight's brother, reassured and yet uneasy, turned on his heel and went into the house, meeting at the door a servant who came to tell him that Sir Anthony was calling for him. Baldwin Moor, left alone, stood a moment thinking, and then turned to speak to Martin. But Martin was gone, and was nowhere to be seen.
The lights in the hall windows twinkled cheerily, and the great fire cast its glow half way across the courtyard, as lights and fire had twinkled and glowed at Coton End on many a night before. But neither in hall nor chamber was there any answering merriment. Baldwin, coming in, cursed the servants who were in his way, and the men moved meekly and without retort, taking his oaths for what they were--a man's tears. The women folk sat listening pale and frightened, and one or two of the grooms, those who had done least in the skirmish, had visions of a tree and a rope, and looked sickly. The rest scowled and blinked at the fire, or kicked up a dog if it barked in its sleep.
"Hasn't Martin come in?" Baldwin growled presently, setting his heavy wet boot on a glowing log, which hissed and sputtered under it. "Where is he?"
"Don't know!" one of the men took on himself to answer. "He did not come in here."
"I wonder what he is up to now?" Baldwin exclaimed, with gloomy irritation; for which, under the circumstances, he had ample excuse. He knew that resistance was utterly hopeless, and could only make matters worse, and twist the rope more tightly about his neck, to put the thought as he framed it. The suspicion, therefore, that this madman--for such in his worst fits the fool became--might be hanging round the place in dark corners, doing what deadly mischief he could to the attacking party, was not a pleasant one.
A gray-haired man in the warmest nook by the fire seemed to read his thoughts. "There is one in the house," he said slowly and oracularly, his eyes on Baldwin's boot, "whom he has just as good a mind to hurt, has our Martin, as any of them Clopton men. Ay, that has he, Master Baldwin."
"And who is that, gaffer?" Baldwin asked contemptuously.
But the old fellow turned shy. "Well, it is not Sir Anthony," he answered, nodding his head, and stooping forward to caress his toasting shins. "Be you very sure of that. Nor the young mistress, nor the young master as was, nor the new lady that came a month ago. No, nor it is not you, Master Baldwin."