Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what a complication of feelings must have crossed the bosom of the unhappy fugitive at that cruel moment.  The clergyman was about to speak, but Sir Hugh interrupted him.

“I know what you would say, Master Curate,—­After all, it is but a lock of woman’s tresses; and by woman, shame, and sin, and death came into an innocent world.—­And learned Master Mumblazen, too, can say scholarly things of their inferiority.”

“C’EST L’HOMME,” said Master Mumblazen, “Qui Se Bast, et qui CONSEILLE.”

“True,” said Sir Hugh, “and we will bear us, therefore, like men who have both mettle and wisdom in us.—­Tressilian, thou art as welcome as if thou hadst brought better news.  But we have spoken too long dry-lipped.—­Amy, fill a cup of wine to Edmund, and another to me.”  Then instantly recollecting that he called upon her who could not hear, he shook his head, and said to the clergyman, “This grief is to my bewildered mind what the church of Lidcote is to our park:  we may lose ourselves among the briers and thickets for a little space, but from the end of each avenue we see the old grey steeple and the grave of my forefathers.  I would I were to travel that road tomorrow!”

Tressilian and the curate joined in urging the exhausted old man to lay himself to rest, and at length prevailed.  Tressilian remained by his pillow till he saw that slumber at length sunk down on him, and then returned to consult with the curate what steps should be adopted in these unhappy circumstances.

They could not exclude from these deliberations Master Michael Mumblazen; and they admitted him the more readily, that besides what hopes they entertained from his sagacity, they knew him to be so great a friend to taciturnity, that there was no doubt of his keeping counsel.  He was an old bachelor, of good family, but small fortune, and distantly related to the House of Robsart; in virtue of which connection, Lidcote Hall had been honoured with his residence for the last twenty years.  His company was agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on account of his profound learning, which, though it only related to heraldry and genealogy, with such scraps of history as connected themselves with these subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the good old knight; besides the convenience which he found in having a friend to appeal to when his own memory, as frequently happened, proved infirm and played him false concerning names and dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master Michael Mumblazen supplied with due brevity and discretion.  And, indeed, in matters concerning the modern world, he often gave, in his enigmatical and heraldic phrase, advice which was well worth attending to, or, in Will Badger’s language, started the game while others beat the bush.

“We have had an unhappy time of it with the good knight, Master Edmund,” said the curate.  “I have not suffered so much since I was torn away from my beloved flock, and compelled to abandon them to the Romish wolves.”