“Old Dale had sent his cubs away. What is the young gadfly doing in Gawdy Town?” “Playing the viol and singing songs, with bells in his cap. He goes out of nights, I hear, but my men say that it is to Petticoat Lane.” “Many things are hatched in a brothel, Vance. And the girl?” “Plays the lute and sings. A haughty young madam, they say, with eyes quick to stab a man.” “There is no whisper of secret work, no playing for Harry Richmond?” Vance shook his big head solemnly. “I keep my nose for that fox,” he said, “but have struck no scent as yet. What is your pleasure, sir?” The Lord of Troy continued to gaze out over the Forest. “Saw you ever anything more peaceful, Master Vance, than yon green country? It is I who have taught it to be peaceful, and much labor it gave me. I have cleared it of wolves; I have cowed its broken men. I choose that it shall remain at peace.” The warden’s eyes glittered. “The Dales were ever turbulent, hot-blooded folk. That young man might give us trouble.” “Prevent it, Master Warden. You have a way of contriving these things. A quarrel in some low house, daggers, and a scuffle in the street.” “My lord, it is as simple as eating pie. My men will manage it. And the girl?” “Bring her here, Master Vance. We will question her. It is possible to learn things from a woman. Moreover, our good king loves a wildfire jade.” The Forest Warden finished his wine, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “By the rope that hanged Judas, sir,” he said, “it is a pleasure to serve a great man who knows his own mind!” _Chapter IX_ Mellis and her brother had left Gawdy Town lying behind them on the blue edge of the sea. The day was very young, and a north wind came over the marshes about the mouth of the Rondel river, bending the reeds in the dykes and rousing ripples in the lengthening grass. Mellis was mounted on a modest nag whose brown coat and sleepy ears were more suited to the russet cloak she wore than to the brighter colors underneath it. Gilbert marched at her side. His eyes looked gray in the morning; the north wind had pinched his courage a little; and he and Mellis were to part for a while. “Keep your heart up, sweet sister.” She looked down at him and smiled. Her eyes were steadier than his, and more determined, and she was less touched by the north wind. His nature was more mercurial, more restless, not so patient when life’s adventure dragged. “I feel near home, Gilbert. I think I could live in the Forest—like a wild thing.” “Woodmere must be all green, and the lilies white on the water. The house is but a shell, they say.” Her eyes filled with a great tenderness. “My heart is there,” she said, sighing. A flock of sheep passed them, being driven to the river pastures. A great wood-wain came rumbling along, loaded high with brown fagots. Mellis’s nostrils dilated, and her eyes shone. “What a good ship, and what merchandise! I can smell the Forest.”