On the homeward ride a white-faced messenger met them, a man with fear in his eyes.
“Sir, sir, turn back. The mob is at Smithfield, and mad as a mad dog.”
Fulk reined in.
“Say you so, my friend? Let us see whether the King’s touch cannot cure this madness.”
Walworth and Cavendish drew close to him, after questioning the messenger.
“It is playing with fire! And yet——”
“If we fly the fire the wind will blow it after us. And fire can be quenched.”
They looked in his eyes, and saw the indomitable spirit of the sire in the eyes of the son.
“Nothing venture, nothing have.”
“Lead on, sirs. Now, for the great hazard!”