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"But, oh, these wild words of thine are worse to mine ears than aught which you could say of me." "Not another word shall I speak," said Aylward; "but here is a franc for thee and I crave thy blessing." "And here is another," said Alleyne. "And another," cried Hordle John. But the blind palmer would have none of their alms.
Hordle John drew the back of his hand across his mouth, fixed his eyes upon the corner of the ceiling, and bellowed forth, in a voice which made the torches flicker, the southland ballad for which he had been asked: The franklin he hath gone to roam, The franklin's maid she bides at home, But she is cold and coy and staid, And who may win the franklin's maid?
"Quite so, ma'am. Sir Charles has not left his room yet. He did not reach home till late, and he sat up with Miss Damaris the rest of the night." "Oh! dear did he? Then, of course, I wouldn't disturb him on any account, Hordle. I had better see Miss Bilson first. Will you tell her I am here?" "I can send Laura to enquire, ma'am.
This monologue brought her as far as the front door, at which, it may be added, she though by no means impatient did in point of fact ring twice before the man-servant answered it. Although Mr. Hordle had the reputation of "being fond of his joke" in private life, in his official capacity his manner offered a model of middle-aged sedateness and restraint.
Hordle had brought the packet here to her, last night, about an hour after she and her father standing under the portico waved reluctant farewells to Colonel Carteret, as the hotel omnibus bore him and his baggage away to the station to catch the mail train through to Paris. This parting, when it actually came about, proved more distressing than she had by any means prefigured.
"Archer," quoth Hordle John, "you have lied more than once and more than twice; for which, and also because I see much in you to dislike, I am sorely tempted to lay you upon your back." "By my hilt! then, I have found a man at last!" shouted the bowman. "And, 'fore God, you are a better man than I take you for if you can lay me on my back, mon garcon.
With him came Aylward and Hordle John, armed as of old, but mounted for their journey upon a pair of clumsy Landes horses, heavy-headed and shambling, but of great endurance, and capable of jogging along all day, even when between the knees of the huge archer, who turned the scale at two hundred and seventy pounds.
Maskall, of Harchester, whose advice in respect of cardiac trouble was wide sought. He had, however, but just launched the question when Hordle entered and, walking to the head of the table, addressed Damaris. "Sir Charles desires me to say he will be glad to see you, miss, when you are at liberty," he told her in muffled accents.
Aylward shouted, looking down at the dice. "Never had I such cursed luck. A murrain on the bones! I have not thrown a good main since I left Navarre. A one and a three! En avant, camarade!" "Four and three," cried Hordle John, counting on his great fingers, "that makes seven. Ho, archer, I have thy cap! Now have at thee for thy jerkin!"
For Sir Charles was away, staying with an old friend and former brother-in-arms, Colonel Carteret, for a week's partridge shooting over the Norfolk stubble-fields. Sport promised to be good, and Damaris had great faith in Colonel Carteret. With him her father was always amused, contented, safe. Hordle was in attendance, too, so she knew his comfort in small material matters to be secure.
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