ow-bay, and when I was at rest she drew up a low hassock and sat at
my feet.

"Now you may go on," she said.

"You have not told me what you would have me say."

"The truth," she commanded.

"'"What is truth," said jesting Pilate,'" I quoted. "Why do you suppose
my Lord Bacon thought the Roman procurator jested at such a time and
place?"

"You are quibbling, Monsieur John. I want to know why you are so
impatient to be gone."

"Saw you ever a man worthy the name who could be content to bide
inactive when duty calls?"

"That is not the whole truth," she said, half absently. "You think you
are unwelcome here."

"'Twas you said that; not I. But I must needs know your father will be
relieved when he is safely quit of me."

"'Twas you said that, not I, Monsieur John," she retorted, giving me
back my own words. "Has ever word been brought you that he would speed
your parting?"

"Surely not, since I am still here. But you must know that I have never
seen his face, as yet."

"And is that strange? You must not forget that he is Gilbert Stair, and
you are Roger Ireton's son."

"I am not likely to forget it. But still a word of welcome to the
unbidden guest would not have come amiss. And it was none of my
seeking--this asylum in his house."

"True; but that has naught to do with any coolness of my father's."

"What is it, then?--besides the fact that I am Roger Ireton's son?"

"I think 'twas what you said to Mr. Pengarvin."

"That little smirking wretch? What has he to say or do in this?"

She looked away from me and said: "He is my father's factor and man of
affairs."

"Ah, I have always to be craving your pardon, Margery. But I said naught
to this parchment-faced--to this Mr. Pengarvin, that might offend your
father, or any."

"How, then, will you explain this, that you swore to drive my father
from Appleby Hundred as soon as ever you had raised a following among
the rebels?"

"'Tis easily explained: this thrice-accursed--oh, pardon me again, I
pray you; I will not name him any name at all. What I meant to say was
that he lied. I made no threats to him; to tell the plain truth, I was
too fiercely mad to bandy words with him."

"What made you mad, Monsieur John?"

"'Twas his threat to me--to taint me with my father's outlawry. Do you
greatly blame me, Margery?"

"No."

Thereat a silence came and sat between us, and I fell to loving her the
more because of it; but when she spoke I always loved her