“Hatch,” returned Dick, “in all
this I smell a guilty conscience.”
“An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell
blood,” replied Bennet. “I do but
warn you. And here cometh one to call you.”
And indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came
across the court to summon Dick into the presence
of Sir Daniel.
Sir Daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily
before the fire, awaiting Dick’s arrival.
None was by except Sir Oliver, and he sat discreetly
backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary.
“Y’ have sent for me, Sir Daniel?”
said young Shelton.
“I have sent for you, indeed,” replied
the knight. “For what cometh to mine ears?
Have I been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make
haste to credit ill of me? Or sith that ye see
me, for the nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit
my party? By the mass, your father was not so!
Those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or
weather. But you, Dick, y’ are a fair-day
friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself
of your allegiance.”
“An’t please you, Sir Daniel, not so,”
returned Dick, firmly. “I am grateful
and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due.
And before more is said, I thank you, and I thank
Sir Oliver; y’ have great claims upon me both—none
can have more; I were a hound if I forgot them.”
“It is well,” said Sir Daniel; and then,
rising into anger: “Gratitude and faith
are words, Dick Shelton,” he continued; “but
I look to deeds. In this hour of my peril, when
my name is attainted, when my lands are forfeit, when
this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for
my destruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith?
I have but a little company remaining; is it grateful
or faithful to poison me their hearts with your insidious
whisperings? Save me from such gratitude!
But, come, now, what is it ye wish? Speak;
we are here to answer. If ye have aught against
me, stand forth and say it.”
“Sir,” replied Dick, “my father
fell when I was yet a child. It hath come to
mine ears that he was foully done by. It hath
come to mine ears—for I will not dissemble—that
ye had a hand in his undoing. And in all verity,
I shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very
clear to help you, till I have certain resolution of
these doubts.”
Sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle. He took
his chin in his hand and looked at Dick fixedly.
“And ye think I would be guardian to the man’s
son that I had murdered?” he asked.
“Nay,” said Dick, “pardon me if
I answer churlishly; but indeed ye know right well
a wardship is most profitable. All these years
have ye not enjoyed my revenues, and led my men?
Have ye not still my marriage? I wot not what
it may be worth—it is worth something.
Pardon me again; but if ye were base enough to slay
a man under trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough
to move you to the lesser baseness.”
