"Look at that fool," said Mary, "he thinks his horse as great a dolt as himself. Chris, Chris," she screamed through her hands--"you sodden ass; be quieter with the poor beast--soothe him, soothe him. He doesn't know what you want of him with your foul temper and your pole going like a windmill about his ears." The cursing and jerking ceased, and a red furious face with thick black beard and hair looked up. But before the rider could speak, Mary went on again: "There now, Chris, he is as quiet as a sheep again. Now take him at it." "What does he want?" asked Anthony. "I can scarcely see for the dust." "Why, he's practising at the quintain;--ah! ah!" she cried out again, as the quintain was missed and swung round with a hard buffet on the man's back as he tore past. "Going to market, Chris? You've got a sturdy shepherd behind you. Baa, baa, black sheep." "Who's that?" asked Anthony, as the tall horseman, as if driven by the storm of contumely from the window, disappeared towards the stable. "Why that's Chris Hatton--whom the Queen calls her sheep, and he's as silly as one, too, with his fool's face and his bleat and his great eyes. He trots about after her Grace, too, like a pet lamb. Bah! I'm sick of him. That's enough of the ass; tell me about Isabel." Then they fell to talking about Isabel; and Mary eyed him as he answered her questions. "Then she isn't a Papist, yet?" she asked. Anthony's face showed such consternation that she burst out laughing. "There, there, there!" she cried. "No harm's done. Then that tall lad, who was away last time I was there--well, I suppose he's not turned Protestant?" Anthony's face was still more bewildered. "Why, my dear lad," she said, "where are your eyes?" "Mistress Corbet," he burst out at last, "I do not know what you mean. Hubert has been in Durham for years. There is no talk----" and he stopped. Mary's face became sedate again. "Well, well," she said, "I always was a tattler. It seems I am wrong again. Forgive me, Master Anthony." Anthony was indeed astonished at her fantastic idea. Of course he knew that Hubert had once been fond of Isabel, but that was years ago, when they had been all children together. Why, he reflected, he too had been foolish once--and he blushed a little.