“Nay, I beg not.”

“Then thou meanest thou wilt not forgive thy poor servant, and wilt impose such extreme penalty; and further importunities would be useless?”

“I forgive the dead all things.”

“My lord, he is not already dead?” and she fell from him aghast.

“Nay, but soon will be.”

Mistress Penwick saw no softening in Cedric’s manner, and she became alarmed and threw some tenderness in her voice and spoke softly, that she might lead or manage her lord by gentleness and tact.

“My lord, do not look so cold and hard.”  She drew nearer and her voice became more pleading. “’Tis a little thing for thee to grant me this one desire.  I beg with all my heart for thy servant’s life.”

“Nay, I have given order for his despatch before sunset.”

“Nay, nay, my lord, I beg.”  She came close to him and laid one hand caressingly upon the silver fastenings of his coat and he turned white and trembled and caught her hand within his own and bent down and pressed his lips to her fingers.  She saw her advantage and followed it close.

“Wilt grant me this one thing, my lord, and I will hold myself—­ready to—­hear thy suit renewed—­if thou so will it?” His voice vibrant and low with passion he could hardly restrain, broke forth,—­

“Kate, Kate, I could not call so base a life worthy of thy consideration, and I could not grant thee that ’twould sully thy sweet tongue to barter for.”

“Thou art most unrelenting, my lord!” The maid was angry for having offered her lord the privilege of renewing his suit; which he didn’t seem inclined to do; and finding her pleadings were of no avail, and being angry and annoyed, she broke into tears, knowing of a certainty she would now have her way, even though her dignity was lowered.  Cedric could not stand and see her thus; he turned from her quickly and was about to leave her, when she called to him almost impatiently,—­

“My lord, wilt grant his life until the morrow?” He hesitated, then turned and bowing low, murmured,

“Until the morrow, Kate,” and left the chamber.

CHAPTER IX

SIR JULIAN POMPHREY

“Now time is something to have gained!  Janet, thou must go to yonder monastery and bring a priest to shrive Christopher.”

“And how didst thou know Christopher was shriveable?”

“’Tis unseemly of thee to make jest of divine ordinances.”

“Nay, I would not jest but know where ’twas thou learnt of his religion?”

“All of the Catholic faith know one another by intuition; ’tis God-given.”

“Then thou didst also know him to be a rascal?”

“Neither do I know it now.  Wilt thou not find some way to bring a priest hither?  Pray, Janet, do; for if I let it go past, ’twill bring me miserable thoughts and wicked dreams.  Janet, thou didst once love me and hadst a fond way of anticipating my desires; but thou hast on a sudden forgotten thine whilom usages.  Beshrew thee for falling away from thine old friends and taking up with new ones.  Lord Cedric’s nurse watches him from morn until eve and deigns not to cajole him or win his desires from their natural bent.”