ough he did not know it), came out from the kitchen with
his white rod to bear it before the dishes of a Queen; and Sir Amyas
walked in from the orchard and was saluted, and Mr. FitzWilliam went his
rounds, and the drawbridge was raised. And, at the time that the
drawbridge was raised, a young man on a horse was wondering when he
should see the lights of Burton....

IV

The first that Mistress Manners knew of his coming in the early hours of
Monday morning, was when she was awakened by Janet in the pitch darkness
shaking her shoulder.

"It is a young man," she said, "on foot. His horse fell five miles off.
He is come with a letter from Derby."

Sleep fell from Marjorie like a cloak. This kind of thing had happened
to her before. Now and then such a letter would come from a priest who
lacked money or desired a guide or information. She sprang out of bed
and began to put on her outer dress and her hooded cloak, as the night
was cold.

"Bring him into the hall," she said. "Get beer and some food, and blow
the fire up."

Janet vanished.

When the mistress came down five minutes later, all had been done as she
had ordered. The turf and wood fire leaped in the chimney; a young man,
still with his hat on his head and drawn down a little over his face,
was sitting over the hearth, steaming like a kettle, eating voraciously.
Janet was waiting discreetly by the doors. Marjorie nodded to her, and
she went out; she had learned that her mistress's secrets were not
always her own as well.

"I am Mistress Manners," she said. "You have a letter for me?"

The young man stood up.

"I know you well enough, mistress," he said. "I am John Merton's son."

Marjorie's heart leaped with relief. In spite of her determination that
this must be a letter from a priest, there had still thrust itself
before her mind the possibility that it might be that other letter whose
coming she had feared. She had told herself fiercely as she came
downstairs just now, that it could not be. No news was come from
Fotheringay all the winter; it was common knowledge that her Grace had a
priest of her own. And now that this was John Merton's son--

She smiled.

"Give me the letter," she said. "I should have known you, too, if it
were not for the dark."

"Well, mistress," he said, "the letter was to be delivered to you, Mr.
Melville said; but--"

"Who?"

"Mr. Melville, mistress: her Grace's steward at Fotheringay."

* * *