CHAPTER IV THIS was a brave thing, already out to set up its will against the world. And of the little world in which she lived her father was the center of authority. He was an august man, high in the service of the Queen. His explicit word was not lightly to be disobeyed. And it had gone forth with no uncertainty. Upon no pretext must Mistress Anne Feversham enter the town of Nottingham, which nestled close about the Castle rock. But she was eighteen years old this day, of a head-strong blood, motherless, craving adventure. The fire in her veins was mounting high. It must have an outlet, it must find escape from within the grim precincts of that old fortress which had begun to press upon her life. Alas! as they returned to the Castle after an hour’s larking among the crocuses, John Markham’s heart sank. He had been a party to a forbidden thing. And he knew not what pains, what penalties might overtake the charming culprit if her naughtiness came to his master’s ear. Moreover, a share of the consequences was like to fall upon himself. But the falconer was not the man to care very much about that. He would have asked nothing better than to be allowed to pay the whole of that reckoning which he knew very well was bound sooner or later to confront his young mistress. That young woman fully realized her guilt. Yet she was far from being afraid. Indeed, as they rode back in the glow of the April sunset to the stern house which kept the old town in awe, she was like a strong-winged bird that knew already the power of its pinions. The brief and sharp battle with Cytherea, whose end had been a proper mending of manners for that unruly beast, had put her in great heart. She was keen for a further display of her powers. Never had she used her servant with such a magnanimity, never with such a humorous indulgence. It was as if she would say to all the world: “See what a will I have. Be it known to all men it is vain for any to oppose it.” Nevertheless John Markham was sad at heart. Out of his high devotion to her she might command him anything, but well he knew there could only be one end to this overweening mood. The galligaskins were a sore matter, although the Constable had not seen them yet. As for the visit to the town, it was neither more nor less than an open flout to his authority. John had a troubled heart as they passed through the Castle gate. As if to confirm the falconer in his fears, Mistress Anne was informed by the porter of the lodge as they passed through the gate that the Constable desired her immediate presence in his own apartment. “For what purpose does he seek it?” The question was asked with the impatience of a spoiled child. “I know not, mistress,” said the porter gravely. “I do but know that when the Constable returned from his ride in the town he asked for you and left the message I have given.” “When did Sir John return?” “Not an hour ago, mistress.”