"They are coming round, sir," replied the servant. "What!" cried George Brooke, in the same angry tone, "you ordered them round as you came? See how meanness can mimic the arrogance of its masters. The cobbler's cur flies at the beggar to whom his master refuses a farthing. But every dog has its day, sirrah, and I forgive thee. There's a crown for thee, to buy thee better manners, if thou canst find them--though, by my faith, I think they are all exported." "No, sir," replied the man, putting away the crown piece with the back of his hand; "I take not money and hard words together. Neither must you say more against my lady, as sweet a one and gentle as any in the land, who never said or did an unkind thing, nor refused her presence to any who deserved it. There's not a man in this house, but will break the pate of any one who dares say aught against her, be he gentle or simple." Brooke gave him a look of contempt, and put his foot into the stirrup, his horses having by this time been brought round; and swinging himself into the saddle, he rode slowly and sullenly away. His thoughts were all on fire, however, and his heart filled with anything but the dull sulkiness that he displayed upon the surface. "What is to be done?" he asked himself; "the matter is clear; she has betrayed us to the King. Cobham is an idiot, to write her a letter under his own hand, when I had promised to speak to her by word of mouth. See what it is to trust fools; and yet we could not well go forward without him. Still what is to be done now? That is the question. If Grey were ready, we might act at once, seize upon James at Wilton, and complete the affair at a blow. If not, it were better for all of us to fly. But I must show no haste, so long as there are other eyes upon me. Once past the park gates, then spur on to London, and let them know our misfortune. There is time yet; for this fatal letter could but reach her late last night, or early this morning.--Here, Jones!"