"Softly, softly mistress," answered the fellow coolly. "Here is the letter sure enow," drawing a small white packet from his valise—"And ’tis from Sir Rupert." Here he showed the direction. "But first give me my price." "Oh yes, thou shalt be paid, never fear," cried Cicely with increasing impatience. "Now give me the packet." "Not so fast, mistress," he answered curtly; "I yield not up this packet before I see my reward." "Oh! you foolish fellow! name your price then." "Five hundred crowns," he answered coolly. "Five hundred crowns," cried Cicely in horror; "why, man, thou art mad, I have not such a sum." "Mad or no, that is my price." "But I could not pay thee such a sum; you are a very extortioner, you wicked fellow." "Listen to me, mistress," interrupted the pedlar roughly; "and be not so glib with thy tongue; hard words win no favours. I know nought of politics, and Sir Rupert may hang twenty times for all I care. All I know is that this letter is worth my price, and if ye will not pay it there be others not a mile away who will be right willing to buy the information it contains." "Ah, sure you could not be so cruel," began Cicely piteously, but Barbara intervened. "Peace, Cicely, let me deal with the fellow. Now, my man," she continued, turning on him sharply, "we will give thee twenty crowns for that letter and not a penny more, dost hear me?" "Oh, ay, mistress, I hear thee," drawled the pedlar jeeringly. "Well, ’tis but a small matter after all, ’tis but one more job for Tom Boilman. I doubt not your ladyship hath heard the sentence of these rebels," he continued turning to Cicely; "’Tis hanging, drawing and quartering for them all. Oh, I warrant me they’ll spare no toil to give Sir Rupert a worthy death. He’ll have music in plenty for his last dance, and in case he find the hanging wearisome they’ll cut him down and cut him up before he chokes." He laughed brutally at his joke and added coolly, "Maybe he’ll live long enough to feel the boiling pitch, they say some of them have done so, and Sir Rupert is hardy enow." Cicely covered her face with her hands and sank shuddering to the ground. "Oh! Barbara, Barbara, what can we do?" she sobbed, while the pedlar laughed once more. "Plague take the man," muttered Barbara in desperation; "what could Rupert be doing to trust in such a rogue! Well, something must be done, but what?" She looked round for inspiration and her glance rested on a long rapier which lay on the central table. She turned again to the pedlar and her eyes gleamed with excitement and triumph. "He is but a poor creature," she muttered, "and by his face he should be but a coward. I can but try it." "Well, mistress," continued the fellow harshly, "am I to offer the letter for sale down at the Winslow Arms yonder?"