“Mayhap I should not have told it again; but mother made the manchets and broiled the bird, while we had but bean soup and coarse bread for breakfast, because she said you’d go from here to prison and it might be to worse.” “Said she so? Ha! is it resolved upon, then? But no, no, no! Winthrop and the rest would not dare, especially with Gorges at my back. I can make them see ’twould be but self-murther for them to give him and the council so excellent a weapon against them. There’s no danger, no danger of death, but I must write to Sir Ferdinando”-- “Is he at the Bay, sir, and will he serve you if you can make him know?” asked Betty eagerly; and the knight, who had forgotten her, turned with a sudden smile and uplifted eyebrows. “What! we’re in council together, are we, Betty? Nay, Sir Ferdinando Gorges is in England, and-- Come, now, child, I read thine honest eyes, and I know thou ’rt sorry for me, and would not add to my discomfort, hadst thou the chance of doing it.” “Nay, sir, indeed and indeed I would not do so.” “I am sure of it. Well, then, Betty, promise me thou’lt not say over again what just slipped my lips, and most particularly the name. I’ll be sworn thou hast even now forgotten”-- “Nay, sir, I’ve not forgotten; ’tis Sir Ferdinando Gorges that would befriend you, but he’s in England and may not be reached, but an the Bay does you an injury he’ll revenge it.” “Thou hast too good a memory, Betty, and a wonderful quickness for thy years,” replied the knight, biting his lip, and staring almost angrily at the child. “Yet I must e’en trust thee. Thou’lt not lisp one word of that lesson thou hast so pat? Mind you, child, ’twas not meant for your ears!” “I’ll not say it over to any one, sir, and I did not want to hear it.” And Betty, with a pretty air of dignity, took up the tray and was leaving the room when Sir Christopher recalled her:-- “Betty, you’re taking away my posy! Was not it meant to tarry with the poor prisoner, and comfort him a little?” “Yes, indeed, sir. Will you be so gentle as to take it off the tray?” “Ay, and thank you, Betty. Good-by, my pretty turnkey.” “I know not what that is, sir. Can I bring you aught else?” “Yes, Betty. I fain would have pens and ink and paper, if I may; and will you or some other ministering sprite redd up the room a little?” “I’ll ask mother, sir,” replied Betty comprehensively, and disappeared, leaving Sir Christopher plunged in meditation both perplexing and futile. “I must wait and see how much they know before I frame my reply,” at length said he aloud; and throwing off the weight with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he took a small dressing-case from one of the inner pockets of his doublet, and began to comb, to perfume, and to curl the long dark hair which was in itself an abomination to the Puritans, and an object of scorn to the Pilgrims.