adorned the walls, upon the tapestries and the portraits of dead
Tressilians. Hearing his step, old Nicholas entered bearing a great
candle-branch which he set upon the table.

"You'm late, Sir Oliver," said the servant, and Master Lionel bain't
home yet neither."

Sir Oliver grunted and scowled as he crunched a log and set it sizzling
under his wet heel. He thought of Malpas and cursed Lionel's folly, as,
without a word, he loosed his cloak and flung it on an oaken coffer by
the wall where already he had cast his hat. Then he sat down, and
Nicholas came forward to draw off his boots.

When that was done and the old servant stood up again, Sir Oliver
shortly bade him to serve supper.

"Master Lionel cannot be long now," said he. "And give me to drink,
Nick. 'Tis what I most require."

"I've brewed ee a posset o' canary sack," announced Nicholas; "there'm
no better supping o' a frosty winter's night, Sir Oliver."

He departed to return presently with a black jack that was steaming
fragrantly. He found his master still in the same attitude, staring at
the fire, and frowning darkly. Sir Oliver's thoughts were still of his
brother and Malpas, and so insistent were they that his own concerns
were for the moment quite neglected; he was considering whether it was
not his duty, after all, to attempt a word of remonstrance. At length
he rose with a sigh and got to table. There he bethought him of his
sick groom, and asked Nicholas for news of him. Nicholas reported the