“What do you do here, mistress?” says he, rudely. “I cannot remember that we sent you for any woman, Captain Stott,” he says. “That matter, I think, was arranged with Master Dacre there.” “She came of her own accord,” says Stott. “She was free to go where she pleased for aught that I know to the contrary.” “What is your business here, mistress?” says Sands. But ere she could reply he fell into a sudden fury. “Come!” says he, “get you gone, mistress, get you gone!--what, have we not had enough of trouble with you Coopes this last day or two that you must give us more? See her out of the camp, Master Dacre,” he says, turning upon Anthony. “See her to her father’s house as you arranged with me.” He turned from them and looked at me with a severe displeasure in his eyes. “Richard Coope, eh?” says he. “Bring him within--we are anxious to make acquaintance with you, Master Coope.” “Sir,” says I, as I hobbled into the farmhouse after him, “I claim your protection on behalf of my cousin, Mistress French, without there.” “She hath another cousin to protect her,” says he, ill-temperedly. “We have given her safe-conduct to her father’s house, and there’s an end on’t.” “But----” says I. “I’ll hear no more,” says he, savage as a bear, and he walked forward and into a room, the door of which he closed behind him. The three troopers that had me in charge waited in the passage with me in their midst. I looked from one to the other, and recognising Merciful Wiggleskirk amongst them, I begged him to run outside and see whether Alison had departed, and if not, to entreat her from me to seek out some friend in the town rather than trust herself to Anthony Dacre. This he did, but presently returned, saying that Mistress French had ridden away, and Master Dacre and his two men with her, whereat I turned sick at heart, and cared no more as to what might happen to me. After some little time the door of the chamber into which Sands had withdrawn was opened again, and an officer looked out and bade the troopers bring me within. I hobbled into the room and found myself standing at the foot of a great table, at the head of which sat a man whom I immediately took to be Sir Thomas Fairfax himself. Sands sat by him on his right, and two other officers were placed on his left, while Captain Stott stood half-way along the table. They all gazed at me with some curiosity, and faith, I daresay I was a pretty sight to behold, for I had had no time to smarten myself up for four days, and the mud of the ditch was thick on my clothes. However, I made my best bow, and was then forced to clutch and hold by the table lest I should fall, for the pain in my leg was turning me sick again. “Master Richard Coope,” says Fairfax, looking at me. “The same, sir,” says I. “You seem to be in some distress,” says he, not unkindly. “Sir,” I says, “I have hurt my foot, and the pain is exceeding sore at this moment.” “Give Master Coope a chair,” says he.