I was now sorry that I had not ridden over to Doncaster that day to my friend Matthew Richardson, who was one of our society, and acted as a kind of centre round which the rest of us revolved. I should have been glad of his counsel--besides which I knew that he would be in possession of full information as to all that was going on. It was apparent to me that I should shortly have to declare myself, for Sir Nicholas would certainly design my assistance for the King, and that, let come what might, I knew could never be given. So I sat there some time, wondering what would next happen, and wishing that things might be so ordered that no breach should occur between me and my worthy relative. But presently there came a tapping at my chamber door, and Gregory pushed in his head to inform me that a man waited my coming in the porch below. “’A seems to have ridden hard and far,” said Gregory, as we went down the stair together. “Pray God he ask not a night’s lodging, Master Dick, for Sir Jarvis’s beast has got our only empty stall, and the night is too wild to turn one of our own horses into the fold.” “’Twill but be some post that brings me a letter,” I answered. “I shall not invite him to tarry.” “A mug of ale, sir,” said Gregory. “Maybe he would stay long enough for that. If you----” I nodded, and crossing the kitchen shut the door behind me. There was a lamp hanging in the porch, and by its light I saw the messenger--a thick-set fellow--standing in the doorway, muffled to the eyes in his cloak, and holding his horse’s bridle over his arm, across which the brute thrust a wet nose that sniffed at the light. “Good-even, friend,” says I, standing before him. “Good-even, master,” he answers, scanning me very close. “A wet night and foul ways.” “Aye,” says I. “Master Richard Coope, I think?” says he. “The same, friend,” says I. He fumbled at his reins and drew the horse nearer to him with a movement of his hand. “The sword of the Lord,” he says in a low voice, looking full at me. “And of Gideon!” says I. He plunged his free hand into his breast and brought out a packet, which he presented to me without loss of time. “That is my duty, master,” says he; “the rest you know as well as I. I will now go on my ways--there is more to be done to-night, bad as the weather is.” He backed his horse from the door. I followed him into the still falling rain. He had one foot in the stirrup as I spoke to him. “This is not my house,” I says, speaking low, “but I could get you food and drink if you have need.” “None, master,” says he. “At such times as these we must take no risk for the sake of carnal delights.” “But is there no answer to this packet?” I says. “Did not they that sent you----” “You will answer the message in person, master, I doubt not,” he says. “Fare you well--the Lord protect you.”