‘I think a’most he be the biggest dog I ever saw,’ assented mistress Rees.

‘I would I were less about the shoulders,’ said Richard.

’Who ever heard a man worth his mess of pottage wish him such a wish as that, master Heywood!  What would mistress Dorothy say to hear thee?  I warrant me she findeth no fault with the breadth of thy shoulders.’

‘I am less in the compass than I was before the last fight,’ he went on, without heeding his hostess, and as if he talked to the dog, who stood with his chin on his knee, looking up in his face.  ’Where thou, Marquis, canst walk, I doubt not to creep; but if thou must creep, what then is left for me?  Yet how couldst thou creep with such wounds in thy throat and belly, my poor Marquis?’

The dog whined, and moved all his feet, one after the other, but without taking his chin off Richard’s knee.

‘Hast seen thy mistress, little Dick, Marquis?’ asked Richard.

Again the dog whined, moved his feet, and turned his head towards the door.  But whether it was that he understood the question, or only that he recognised the name of his friend, who could tell?

‘Will thou take me to Dick, Marquis?’

The dog turned and walked to the door, then stood and looked back, as if waiting for Richard to open it and follow him.

‘No, Marquis, we must not go before night,’ said Richard.

The dog returned slowly to his knee, and again laid his chin upon it.

’What will the dog do next, thinkest thou, mother—­when he finds himself well again, I mean?  Will he run from thee?’ said Richard.

‘He would be like neither dog nor man I ever knew, did he not.’ returned the old woman.  ’He will for sure go back where he got his hurts—­to revenge them if he may, for that is the custom also with both dogs and men.’

’Couldst thou make sure of him that he run not away till I come again at night, mother?’

’Certain I can, my son.  I will shut him up whence he will not break so long as he hears me nigh him.’

‘Do so then an’ thou lovest me, mother Rees, and I will be here with the first of the darkness.’

‘An’ I love thee, master Richard?  Nay, but I do love thy good face and thy true words, be thou puritan or roundhead, or fanatic, or what evil name soever the wicked fashion of the times granteth to men to call thee.’

’Hark in thine ear then, mother:  I will call no names; but they of Raglan have, as I truly believe, stolen from me my Lady.’

‘Nay, nay, master Richard,’ interrupted mistress Rees; ’did I not tell thee with my own mouth that she went of her own free will, and in the company of the reverend sir Matthew Herbert?’

’Alas! thou goest not with me, mother Rees.  I meant not mistress Dorothy.  She is lost to me indeed; but so also is my poor mare, which was stolen last night from Redware stables as the watchers slept.’