"The Count sighs for some lady love," the priest continued deliberately, eying his companion, to see what effect this announcement would have upon him. "Why, even on the night I tell thee of, did I not hear him call out once, twice, 'Margaret! Margaret!'" and he chuckled to himself in glee at the thought.
I started in my hiding place, and a lump of dirt dislodged itself and rolled down to where the villains sat. They started; Francis sprang to his feet in terror.
"What is that?" he cried, and he peered uneasily up to where I crouched.
His companion kept his seat unmoved.
"Art thou a fool," he said, "to be scared out of thy wits by a clod of dirt falling? Thou art even as if thou hadst seen a ghost," and he laughed at his ally's fright.
The priest resumed his seat, still gazing up to where I lay.
"I fancy Sir Thomas Winchester is after me in every breeze I hear," he muttered, as he reseated himself.
"Calm thy mind," the seaman rejoined. "He is safe at his supper long ere this, dreaming over the king's wine," and he grinned.
"What foolishness is this? The Count yearning for some fair lady! Dost thou take me for a schoolboy, that I should believe this? Did he pine for some maid, he would bestir himself and take her; quietly, if possible—if not, then by force. Faith! thou little knowest him, if thou thinkest he would pine over any maiden."