Old Hardpiece grew unusually busy about matters of no importance, and the hard-featured trooper was seen to brush his brows, as though some unpleasant suspicions had crossed his brain.  He raised his arm as he gazed on the children, muttering as he clenched his hand—­

“If he dare!”—­He then carelessly examined his sword, returning it quickly into its sheath, as the weeping Alice drew away the children to her own apartment.  Old Geoffery now grew more talkative.  Leaning his chin upon his hand, and his elbow on the table, he thus proceeded:—­

“It’s four long years come St Barnabas since Sir Harry’s death; and my lady, rest her soul! went melancholy soon after.  Everything was bequeathed in trust to my master, Hildebrand Wentworth, a great friend of Sir Harry’s, and his secretary or purse-bearer, I forget which—­no matter—­all the property, I say, was left in trust for Sir Harry’s wife and children.  Hildebrand brought a will from Sir Harry to this effect, and poor Lady Fairfax never looked up afterwards.  She moped about, and would see nobody, and then it was they said she was out of her wits.  It was not long before her head-gear and mantle were found by the river-side just below the old bridge you crossed—­but her body never.”

Here the entrance of Michael cut short the old man’s discourse.

“Belike thou hast not lacked a cup of warm sack, and a whey-posset with my master in the west turret,” scoffingly cried Master Geoffery.  Michael looked surly as he replied—­

“Old Gabergeon, let us have a draught of thy best, a stirrup-cup.  Breakfast I have settled with above stairs.”

“Marry take your swill, Mr Saucypate,” tartly replied Geoffery.  “And so, because you have eaten and drunk with my master, it is ‘old Gabergeon;’ else had it been good Master Hardpiece, or ’if you will, Master Geoffery!’ Out upon such carrion, say I, that think themselves live meat when they are but fly-blown.”

“Old Geoffery,” said Michael, coolly, “we’ll settle our rank at a more convenient opportunity.  Just now I’ll thank thee for the flagon.”

“It’s in the cupboard,” growled Hardpiece.  “Verily these arms would tingle.  But I am old, and that same Michael but a sorry brute—­no beating would mend him.  An ass of most vicious propensities; he will bite forwards and kick backwards.  Friends get the benefit of his teeth, and foes the favour of his heels.”

Thus did the old man console himself for the rudeness he could not restrain.  It was not long ere a summons hurried them to the courtyard.  They found their beasts equipped and ready to depart; Harry and Julia looking joyously on, vastly diverted with the horses’ accoutrements.  Hildebrand stood by the gateway, looking moody and anxious for their departure; Alice, full of sorrow, attended with some refreshments which were stowed into the wallet.  The journey was but short, and an hour’s ride that fine morning, Michael said, would bring them to