“Cold meat and bread will suffice for us,” said Harry: “we will not trouble the damsel to play the cook.”
With this Mabel, who appeared a good deal embarrassed by the presence of the strangers, spread a cloth of snow-white linen on the little table, and placed the remains of the pie and a large oven cake before them. The new-comers sate down, and ate heartily of the humble viands, he who had answered to the name of Harry frequently stopping in the course of his repast to compliment his fair attendant.
“By our Lady, I have never been so waited on before,” he added, rising and removing his stool towards the fire, while his companion took up a position, with his back against the wall, near the fireplace. “And now, my pretty Mabel, have you never a cup of ale to wash down the pie?”
“I can offer you a draught of right good mead, master,” said Tristram; “and that is the only liquor my cottage can furnish.”
“Nothing can be better,” replied Harry. “The mead, by all means.”
While Mabel went to draw the liquor, Tristram fixed his eyes on Harry, whose features were now fully revealed by the light of the fire.
“Why do you look at me so hard, friend?” demanded Harry bluffly.
“I have seen some one very like you, master,” replied Tristram, “and one whom it is no light honour to resemble.”
“You mean the king,” returned Harry, laughing. “You are not the first person who has thought me like him.”
“You are vain of the likeness, I see, master,” replied Tristram, joining in the laugh. “How say you, Mab?” he added to his granddaughter, who at that moment returned with a jug and a couple of drinking-horns. “Whom does this gentleman resemble?”