"But Madge?" says Richard. "Is she safe in bed?"

"She's a jade!" was all the answer he got. Then the old man sat up and
peered around the end of the settle to where I stood, cup and bottle in
hand. "'Tis a Christian thought," he quavered. "Give me a sup of the
wine, man."

I served him and had a Scottish blessing for my wastefulness, because,
forsooth, the broken bottle spilt a thimbleful in the pouring. I saw he
did not recognize me, and was well enough content to let it rest thus.

Richard suffered him to drink in peace, but when the cup was empty he
renewed his asking for Margery. At this the master of the house,
heartened somewhat by my father's good madeira, made shift to get upon
his feet in some tremulous fashion.

"Madge, d'ye say? She's gone; gone where neither you nor that dour-faced
deevil that befooled us all will find her soon, I promise you, Dickie
Jennifer!" he snapped; and I gave them my back and stumbled blindly to
the door, making sure his next word would tell my poor wronged lad all
that he should have learned from never any other lips but mine own. But
Richard himself parried the impending stroke of truth, saying:

"So she is safe and well, Mr. Stair, 'tis all I ask to know."

"She is safe enough; safer by far than you are at this minute, my young
cock-a-hoop rebel, now that the king--God save him!--has his own again."

I turned quickly on the broad door-stone to look within. Out of doors