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"Your Lordship! If it so turned out that she be holding some
_rendezvous_ with thy Russian guest--"
"Ah, 'sdeath!" he interrupted.
"I beg thou wilt forgive much, she being of such slender age and
knowing not the great wrong of clandestine--"
"Ah! ah! she holdeth court here in the chief butlery."
The door before them had been thrown open by the lackeys. They stood
upon either side for his Lordship to pass through. Beyond, framed in
the dark embrasure of the archway, stood Mistress Penwick in gleaming
white. Her hands behind her rested upon a table from which long leaves
depended to the floor, upon either side, her camelot cloak was thrown
carelessly upon the further end, its long fulness draping to the
floor, and in the centre of the polished top of the table rested a
tall, silver candlestick with lighted taper. Upon the hearthstone
there shot up a cheerful blaze, for the night was damp and chilly, and
the flickering light sent Mistress Penwick's hair first amber, then
bronze. Her face was still and white, and her eyes flashed wide and
boldly.


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146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170