"Yes, Nigel, he would have it so. I can hear his whisper in my
ear. Honor to him was everything--the rest nothing. Take it
from me, Nigel, ere my heart weakens. To-morrow you will ride with
it to Guildford; you will see Thorold the goldsmith; and you will
raise enough money to pay for all that we shall need for the
King's coming." She turned her face away to hide the quivering of
her wrinkled features, and the crash of the iron lid covered the
sob which burst from her overwrought soul.




VII. HOW NIGEL WENT MARKETING TO GUILDFORD


It was on a bright June morning that young Nigel, with youth and
springtime to make his heart light, rode upon his errand from
Tilford to Guildford town. Beneath him was his great yellow
warhorse, caracoling and curveting as be went, as blithe and free
of spirit as his master. In all England one would scarce have
found upon that morning so high-mettled and so debonair a pair.
The sandy road wound through groves of fir, where the breeze came
soft and fragrant with resinous gums, or over heathery downs,
which rolled away to north and to south, vast and untenanted, for
on the uplands the soil was poor and water scarce. Over
Crooksbury Common he passed, and then across the great Heath of
Puttenham, following a sandy path which wound amid the bracken and
the heather, for he meant to strike the Pilgrims' Way where it
turned eastward from Farnham and from Seale. As he rode he