another part of the hall, where they were all strangers.

Except for the mere prudence of pretending to obey Viridus until it
should be safe to defy him and his master, she troubled little about
what was going to happen to her. It was enough that she was away from
the home where she had pined and been lonely. She sat on her stool,
watched the many figures that passed her, marked fashions of
embroidery, and thought that such speeches as she chanced to hear were
ill-turned. Her sister Maids of Honour turned their backs upon her.
Only the dark girl, Cicely Elliott, who had gibed at her a week ago,
helped her to pin her sleeve that had been torn by a sword-hilt of
some man who had turned suddenly in a crowd. But Katharine had learnt,
as well as the magister, that when one is poor one must accept what
the gods send. Besides, she knew that in the Lady Mary's household she
was certain to be avoided, for she was regarded still as a spy of old
Crummock's. That, most likely, would end some day, and she had no love
for women's chatter.

She sat late at night correcting the embroidery of some
true-love-knots that Margot had been making for her. A huckster had
been there selling ribands from France, and showing a doll dressed as
the ladies of the French King's Court were dressing that new year. He
had been talking of a monster that had been born to a pig-sty on
Cornhill, and lamenting that travel was become a grievous costly thing
since the monasteries, with their free hostel, had been done away
with. The monster had been much pondered in the city; certainly it
portended wars or strange public happenings, since it had the face of
a child, greyhound's ears, a sow's forelegs, and a dragon's tail. But
the huckster had gone to another room, and Margot was getting her
supper with the Lady Mary's serving-maids.

'Save us!' Katharine said to herself over her embroidery-frame, 'here
be more drunkards. If I were a Queen I would make a law that any man
should be burnt on the tongue that was drunk more than seven times in
the week.' But she was already on her feet, making for the door, her
frame dropped to the ground. There had been a murmur of voices through
the thick oak, and then shouts and objurgations.

Thomas Culpepper stood in the doorway, his sword drawn, his left hand
clutching the throat of the serving man who was guarding her room.

'God help us!' Katharine said angrily; 'will you ruin me?'

'Cut throats?' he muttered. 'Aye, I