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Lady B., who was the companion of his travels after 1861, also wrote books on Syria, Arabia, and other eastern countries, as well as a life of her husband, a number of whose manuscripts she destroyed. Miscellaneous writer, b. at Lindley, Leicestershire, and ed. at Oxf., took orders, and became Vicar of St. Thomas, Oxf., 1616, and Rector of Segrave, Leicestershire, 1630.
She turned from him and walked to the center table. She watched the game for a while, noting that young Segrave was still the winner, and that Lord Walterton was very flushed and excited. Then she caught Endicott's eye, and immediately lowered her lashes twice in succession.
"Nay! nay! my dear Segrave," replied Lord Walterton, shaking himself like a sleepy dog, "the game hath ceased to have any pleasure for me, as our young friend here hath remarked.... I wish you good luck ... and good-night." Whereupon he turned on his heel and straddled away to another corner of the room, away from the temptation of that green-covered table.
His life was promised him on condition of his revealing the strength of the advancing army. The terrified wretch did not hesitate; and from him they learned that it was commanded by Sir John Segrave and Ralph Confrey, who, deeming the country subdued by the two last battles gained over the Black and Red Cummins, were preparing for a general plundering.
Then as Endicott tried to protest, and Gunning gave a sharp order for his immediate removal, Segrave pushed his way forward; he wore no sword, and like Lambert, had stood aloof throughout this brief scene of turbulent yet futile resistance, sullen, silent, and burning with a desire for revenge against the man who had turned the current of his luck, and brought him back to that abyss of despair, whence he now knew there could be no release.
Peter des Roches, who had occupied himself after his fall by fighting for Gregory IX. against the revolted Romans, returned to England in broken health in 1236, and was reconciled to the king. Peter of Rivaux was restored to favour, and made keeper of the royal wardrobe. Segrave and Passelewe again became justices and ministers.
And still that measured tramp down the street, growing louder, more distinct, a muffled "Halt!" the sound of arms, of men moving about beneath that yawning archway and along the dark and dismal passage with its hermetically closed front door. Alone, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had taken no part in the confused turmoil which raged around the personalities of Segrave and Richard Lambert.
Segrave was taken, and forty English knights besides. The green borders of the Eske were dyed red with Southron blood; and the enemy on all sides were calling for quarter, when, of a sudden, the cry of "Havoc and St. George!" issued from the adjoining hill. Terror struck to many a Scottish heart. The Southrons who were just about giving up their arms, leaped upon their feet.
"I pay knave and upwards," declared Segrave in a dry and hollow voice, and with burning eyes fixed upon his new and formidable opponent. "My last sovereign, par Dieu!" swore Lord Walterton, throwing the money across to Segrave with an unsteady hand. "And one of my last," said Sir Michael, as he followed suit. "And what is your stake, Master Lambert?" queried Segrave.
But and here I dwelt on my point: Man, if not a fighting animal in his glorious I forgot what is a sensitive one, and has the idea of honour. "Hear," from Colonel Segrave, and Sir Weeton Slaterhe was one of the party. In fine, Richie, I found myself wafted into a breathing oration. I cannot, I confess it humbly, hear your "hear, hear," without going up and off, inflated like a balloon.
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