e room that
he was to share with the young man, fell upon the bed, and asleep, all
in one act.

* * * * *

He was awakened by the trumpets sounding for dinner in the castle-yard,
and sat up to find young John looking at him. The news that he brought
drove the last shreds of sleep from his brain.

"I have seen Mr. Melville, my master, sir. He bids me say it is useless
for Mr. Bourgoign, or anyone else, to attempt anything with Sir Amyas
for the present. Mr. Melville hath spoken to Sir Amyas as to his
separation from her Grace, and could get no reason for it. But the same
day--it was of Monday--her Grace's butler was forbidden any more to
carry the white rod before her dishes. This is as much as to signify,
Mr. Melville says, that her Grace's royalty shall no longer protect her.
It is their intention, he says, to degrade her first, before they
execute her. And we may look for the warrant any day, my master says."

The young man stared at him mournfully.

"And M. de Preau?"

"M. de Preau goes about as a ghost. He will come and speak with your
Reverence before the day is out. Meanwhile, Mr. Melville says you may
walk abroad freely. Sir Amyas never goes forth of the castle now, and
none will notice. But they might take notice, Mr. Melville says, if you
were to lie all day in your chamber."

* * * * *

It was after dinner, as Robin rose from the table in a parlour, where he
had dined with two or three lawyers and an officer of Mr. FitzWilliam,
that John Merton came to him and told him that a gentleman was waiting.
He went upstairs and found the priest, a little timorous-looking man,
dressed like a minister, pacing quickly to and fro in the tiny room at
the top of the house where John and he were to sleep. The Frenchman
seized his two hands and began to pour out in an agitated whisper a
torrent of French and English. Robin disengaged himself.

"You must sit down, M. de Preau," he said, "and speak slowly, or I shall
not understand one word. Tell me precisely what I must do. I am here to
obey orders--no more. I have no design in my head at all. I will do what
Mr. Bourgoign and yourself decide."

* * * * *

It was pathetic to watch the little priest. He interrupted himself by a
thousand apostrophes; he lifted hands and eyes to the ceiling
repeatedly; he named his poor mistress saint and martyr; he cried out
against the barba