Nevertheless he drew Nick quickly in, and kissed him thrice; and after he had kissed him kept fast hold of his hand until they came together through the hall into the great room where Cicely was sitting quite dismally in the chimney-seat alone.

[Illustration:  “SO NICK RODE HOME UPON THE BACK OF THE EARL OF ARUNDEL’S MAN-AT-ARMS.”]

“There, Nick,” said he; “tell her thyself that thou hast come back.  She thought she had lost thee for good and all, and hath sung, ’Hey ho, my heart is full of woe!’ the whole twilight, and would not be comforted.  Come, Cicely, doff thy doleful willow—­the proverb lies.  ’Out of sight, out of mind’—­fudge! the boy’s come back again!  A plague take proverbs, anyway!”

But when the children were both long since abed, and all the house was still save for the scamper of rats in the wall, the heavy door of Nick’s room opened stealthily, with a little grating upon the uneven sill, and Master Carew stood there, peeping in, his hand upon the bolt outside.

He held a rush-light in the other.  Its glimmer fell across the bed upon Nick’s tousled hair; and when the master-player saw the boy’s head upon the pillow he started eagerly, with brightening eyes.  “My soul!” he whispered to himself, a little quaver in his tone, “I would have sworn my own desire lied to me, and that he had not come at all!  It cannot be—­yet, verily, I am not blind. Ma foil it passeth understanding—­a freed skylark come back to its cage!  I thought we had lost him forever.”

Nick stirred in his sleep.  Carew set the light on the floor.  “Thou fool!” said he, and he fumbled at his pouch; “thou dear-beloved little fool!  To catch the skirts of glory in thine hand, and tread the heels of happy chance, and yet come back again to ill-starred twilight—­and to me!  Ai, lad, I would thou wert my son—­mine own, own son; yet Heaven spare thee father such as I!  For, Nick, I love thee.  Yet thou dost hate me like a poison thing.  And still I love thee, on my word, and on the remnant of mine honour!” His voice was husky.  “Let thee go?—­send thee back?—­eat my sweet and have it too?—­how?  Nay, nay; thy happy cake would be my dough—­it will not serve.”  He shook his head, and looked about to see that all was fast.  “Yet, Nick, I say I love thee, on my soul!”

Slipping to the bedside with stealthy step, he laid a fat little Banbury cheese and some brown sweet cakes beside Nick’s pillow; then came out hurriedly and barred the door.

The fire in the great hall had gone out, and the room was growing cold.  The table stood by the chimney-side, where supper had been laid, Carew brought a napkin from the linen-chest, and spread it upon the board.  Then he went to the server’s screen and looked behind it, and tried the latches of the doors; and having thus made sure that all was safe, came back to the table again, and setting the rush-light there, turned the contents of his purse into the napkin.