“Nay, I know nothing of his movements, not I,” said Phœbe; “I am only glad to keep out of his way. But if he have actually gone hence, I am sure he was here some two hours since, for he crossed me in the lower passage, between the hall and the kitchen.”
“How did you know it was he?” demanded Cromwell.
“By a rude enough token,” said Phœbe.—“La, sir, you do ask such questions!” she added, hanging down her head.
Humgudgeon here interfered, taking upon himself the freedom of a co-adjutor. “Verily,” he said, “if what the damsel is called to speak upon hath aught unseemly, I crave your Excellency’s permission to withdraw, not desiring that my nightly meditations may be disturbed with tales of such a nature.”
“Nay, your honour,” said Phœbe, “I scorn the old man’s words, in the way of seemliness or unseemliness either. Master Louis did but snatch a kiss, that is the truth of it, if it must be told.”
Here Humgudgeon groaned deeply, while his Excellency avoided laughing with some difficulty. “Thou hast given excellent tokens, Phœbe,” he said; “and if they be true, as I think they seem to be, thou shalt not lack thy reward.—And here comes our spy from the stables.”
“There are not the least signs,” said the trooper, “that horses have been in the stables for a month—there is no litter in the stalls, no hay in the racks, the corn-bins are empty, and the mangers are full of cobwebs.”
“Ay, ay,” said the old knight, “I have seen when I kept twenty good horses in these stalls, with many a groom and stable-boy to attend them.”
“In the meanwhile,” said Cromwell, “their present state tells little for the truth of your own story, that there were horses to-day, on which this Kerneguy and your son fled from justice.”
“I did not say that the horses were kept there,” said the knight. “I have horses and stables elsewhere.”