“What claim has the wench to be considered?”
“The claim of courtesy—and compassion, sir. Look to it, Gregory, I will have none of the bully in you; my fist is as heavy as ever it was.”
And there the matter rested for a while.
John Falconer did not deceive himself; these mesne lords and squirelings were no children of romance. The wars had bred a savage spirit in the land; the middle age was dying, cruel and brutish in its decadence, and the strong man was not there as yet to smite it down forever with his kingly club. Martin Valliant would have to go; these men of the Forest would not hesitate to sacrifice him.
But Mellis?
He hardened his heart, and went in search of her, and finding her in the tower room, he shut the door and spoke out.
“Child, this man cannot stay with us; he will bring us evil luck.”
“Who sent you with that message, John?”
“The whole place is whispering it. It might have been born with the men, but our friends will have none of him.”
She stood at her full height, calmly scorning him and them all.