“No, I mean not that,” replied Mauger. “But I tell you that the day will end differently from what you expect.”
“Pshaw! thou art only saying this to frighten the women,” said Og. “Sit down again and take another cup of wine.”
“No, I have had enough,” rejoined Mauger, in a surly tone. “I came here with presents to the bride—presents such as none other in the Tower could offer her—and they have been scornfully rejected. Be it so. A day may come for some of you when it may be necessary to bespeak my favour.”
And casting a stern and vindictive look around, he limped out of the room.
“I am glad he is gone,” observed Lilias. “And yet I wish he had not left us in anger.”
“Pshaw! heed him not,” rejoined Og. “His odious office causes him to be generally shunned, and hence he is sour-tempered. He is gentler than usual to-day.”
“Then he must, indeed, be savage,” said Lilias, forcing a laugh.
“He is strangely superstitious,” pursued Og, “and pretends he has warnings beforehand of the persons he is to put to death. From what he let fall just now, I fancy he has had one of those warnings.”
“Saints preserve us! I hope not!” cried Lilias, turning pale. “I declare I feel quite ill. Did you not remark that he compared my neck to that of Queen Catherine Howard?[Howard?]”
“Nay, he meant that as a compliment,” said her husband. “In good sooth, thou hast a dainty neck, sweetheart.”