he promise that in return Kenneth should aid him in some vengeful
business he had on hand."

Cynthia nodded that she understood or that she knew, and glibly Joseph
pursued:

"Last night, when on the point of departing, Crispin, who had drunk
over-freely, as is his custom, reminded Kenneth of his plighted word,
and demanded of the boy that he should upon the instant go forth with
him. Kenneth replied that the hour was overlate to be setting out upon
a journey, and he requested Galliard to wait until to-day, when he
would be ready to fulfil what he had promised. But Crispin retorted that
Kenneth was bound by his oath to go with him when he should require it,
and again he bade the boy make ready at once. Words ensued between them,
the boy insisting upon waiting until to-day, and Crispin insisting upon
his getting his boots and cloak and coming with him there and then. More
heated grew the argument, till in the end Galliard, being put out of
temper, snatched at his sword, and would assuredly have spitted the
boy had not your father interposed, thereby getting himself wounded.
Thereafter, in his drunken lust Sir Crispin went the length of wantonly
cracking that panel with his sword by way of showing Kenneth what he
had to expect unless he obeyed him. At that I intervened, and using my
influence, I prevailed upon Kenneth to go with Galliard as he demanded.
To this, for all his reluctance, Kenneth ended by consenting, and so
they are gone."

By that most glib and specious explanation Cynthia was convinced. True,
she added a question touching the amazing condition of the grooms, in
reply to which Joseph afforded her a part of the truth.

"Sir Crispin sent them some wine, and they drank to his departure so
heartily that they are not rightly sober yet."

Satisfied with this explanation Cynthia repaired to her father.

Now Gregory had not agreed with Joseph what narrative they were to offer
Cynthia, for it had never crossed his dull mind that the disorder of
the hall and the absence of Kenneth might cause her astonishment. And so
when she touched upon the matter of his wound, like the blundering fool
he was, he must needs let his tongue wag upon a tale which, if no less
imaginative than Joseph's, was vastly its inferior in plausibility and
had yet the quality of differing from it totally in substance.

"Plague on that dog, your lover, Cynthia," he growled from the mountain
of pillows that propped him. "If he should come to