"Two years agone come Lammastide," answered Stephen. "There was a
deadly creeping fever and ague through the Forest. We two sickened,
and Ambrose was so like to die that Diggory went to the abbey for
the priest to housel and anneal him, but by the time Father Simon
came he was sound asleep, and soon was whole again. But before we
were on our legs, our blessed mother took the disease, and she
passed away ere many days were over. Then, though poor father took
not that sickness, he never was the same man again, and only twelve
days after last Pasch-tide he was taken with a fit and never spake
again."

Stephen was weeping by this time, and his uncle had a hand on his
shoulder, and with tears in his eyes, threw in ejaculations of pity
and affection. Ambrose finished the narrative with a broken voice
indeed, but as one who had more self-command than his brother,
perhaps than his uncle, whose exclamations became bitter and angry
as he heard of the treatment the boys had experienced from their
half-brother, who, as he said, he had always known as a currish
mean-spirited churl, but scarce such as this.

"Nor do I think he would have been, save for his wife, Maud Pratt of
Hampton," said Ambrose. "Nay, truly also, he deemed that we were
only within a day's journey of council from our uncle Richard at
Hyde."

"Richard Birkenholt was a sturdy old comrade! Methinks he would
give Master Jack a piece of his mind."

"Alack, good uncle, we found him in his dotage, and the bursar of
Hyde made quick work with us, for fear, good Father Shoveller said,