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With her chin in her hands the girl had listened intently to the story. When it was finished she said: “What didst thou say was the gentleman’s name?”

“His friend called him Dick. He is a poor knight, one Sir Richard Mowbray, of Leicester, called at Court and elsewhere Happy Dick Mowbray, for they do say a happier and braver heart never wore the King’s uniform.”

“Indeed I should like to know that Sir Richard Mowbray. And, tell me now, who is the greatest person thou hast seen in thy absence?”

“I saw the King–at Boston town.”

“The King! The King!” Her eyes lightened, her hands clapped merrily. “What did he say to thee? Now, now, there is that dark light in thine eyes again. I will not have it so!” With her thumbs she daintily drew down the eyelids and opened them again. “There, that’s better. Now what did the King say to thee?”

“He said to me that I should be Sir John Enderby, of Enderby.”

“A knight! A knight! He made thee a knight?” she asked gaily. She slipped from his knee and courtesied before him, then seeing the heaviness of his look, she added: “Booh, Sir John Enderby, why dost thou look so grave? Is knighthood so big a burden thou dost groan under it?”

“Come here, my lass,” he said gently. “Thou art young, but day by day thy wisdom grows, and I can trust thee. It is better thou shouldst know from my own lips the peril this knighthood brings, than that trouble should suddenly fall and thou be unprepared.”

Drawing her closely to him he told her the story of his meeting with the King; of Lord Rippingdale; of the King’s threat to levy upon his estates and to issue a writ of outlawry against him.

For a moment the girl trembled, and Enderby felt her hands grow cold in his own, for she had a quick and sensitive nature and passionate intelligence and imagination.

“Father,” she cried pantingly, indignantly, “the King would make thee an outlaw, would seize upon thy estates, because thou wouldst not pay the price of a paltry knighthood!” Suddenly her face flushed, the blood came back with a rush, and she stood upon her feet. “I would follow thee to the world’s end rather than that thou shouldst pay one penny for that honour. The King offered thee knighthood? Why, two hundred years before the King was born, an Enderby was promised an earldom. Why shouldst thou take a knighthood now? Thou didst right, thou didst right.” Her fingers clasped in eager emphasis.

“Dost thou not see, my child,” said he, “that any hour the King’s troops may surround our house and take me prisoner and separate thee from me? I see but one thing to do; even to take thee at once from here and place thee with thy aunt, Mistress Falkingham, in Shrewsbury.”

“Father,” the girl said, “thou shalt not put me away from thee. Let the King’s men surround Enderby House and the soldiers and my Lord Rippingdale levy upon the estates of Enderby. Neither his Majesty nor my Lord Rippingdale dare put a finger upon me–I would tear their eyes out.”

Enderby smiled half sadly at her, and answered “The fear of a woman is one of the worst fears in this world. Booh!”

So ludicrously did he imitate her own manner of a few moments before that humour drove away the flush of anger from her face, and she sat upon his chair-arm and said:

“But we will not part; we will stand here till the King and Lord Rippingdale do their worst–is it not so, father?”

He patted her head caressingly.

“Thou sayest right, my lass; we will remain at Enderby. Where is thy brother Garrett?”

“He has ridden over to Mablethorpe, but will return within the hour,” she replied.

At that moment there was a sound of hoofs in the court-yard. Running to a rear window of the library Mistress Felicity clapped her hands and said: