"What business, sir?"

"If you would know--that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear
of that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and
prove him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now,
is my nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I'll
believe you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have
poached a kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same
before you were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through
the snows to London at my heels."

"You have it, sir," answered Christopher. "If she needs my company she
must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I'll not seek hers while you
are away."

"Good. Then one gift for another. I'll not answer my Lord of Despard's
letter till I get back again--not to please you, but because I hate
writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night.
Now, have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty
work."

"Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you.
Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two--six or eight,
indeed--while yours are away with the wains."

"Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years,
and can do so still. Also," he added, with a flash of insight, "as you