For a long time the party was a silent one. Edgar was thinking over the changes which must ensue now that he was a gold-spurred knight. For one thing, he could no longer remain in Sir John's service. His late master could now scarce afford to support a knight, even if he desired to do so. Thus his connection with Wolsingham would seem to be at an end. The thought was hardly a pleasant one.
Beatrice, too, rode as though lost in thoughts none too bright, though once or twice she stole a quick look at her silent companion. Presently she roused herself with an effort, and began to rally Edgar on his gloominess.
"Thou art glum, Sir Edgar," she cried gaily. "Surely thou hast all thou canst desire--knighthood and a goodly fame, the earl's approval: what more canst wish for?"
"Yes, yes, Beatrice," replied Edgar half absently, "'tis as thou sayest. I have much to be thankful for--and yet there are some things I regret, for I fear 'twill mean that I must leave Sir John's service."
"Is that all?" asked Beatrice, raising her eyebrows in indifference.
Edgar's absence of mind vanished, and he stared at his fair companion with a chagrin that his sudden astonishment did not give him time to conceal.
"Is it--is it nothing to thee, then?" he stammered, after an awkward pause.
"Why should it be, Sir Edgar?" asked Beatrice easily.
"I know not--but I thought that perhaps what hath passed----" Edgar stopped quickly, feeling that what he was about to say was far from generous.
"What thou hast done for me, thou meanest? Thou shalt be paid."