Before Arbel had done much more than resume her seat and her needle, the room was entered by two men and a lad of sixteen years. The master of the house, Mr Anthony Tremayne, [Note 3] who came in first, was a man of more demonstrative manners than his quiet partner. He who entered second was shorter and stronger-built, and had evidently seen a longer term of life. His hair, plentifully streaked with grey, was thinned to slight baldness on the summit of the head; his features, otherwise rather strong and harsh, wore an expression of benevolence which redeemed them; his eyes, dark grey, were sharp and piercing. When he took off his hat, he carefully drew forth and put on a black skull-cap, which gave him a semi-priestly appearance. The lad, who entered with a slow and almost languid step, though in face resembling his father, was evidently not without an element of his mother in his mental composition. His hair was dark, and his eyes brown: but the same calm placidity of expression rested on his features as on hers, and his motions were quiet and deliberate. "Good morrow, Dr Thorpe," [Note 4] said Mistress Tremayne, rising from her work. "The like to you, my mistress," was the response. "Well, how fare you all? Be any of you sick? or can you do without me for a se'nnight?" "Whither go you, Doctor?" gently asked Custance. The Doctor's brow grew graver. "On a sorrowful errand, friend," he replied. "Our noble friends at Crowe are in sore trouble, for their little maid is grievous sick." "What, little Honor?" cried Arbel, pityingly. "Ay, methinks the Master is come, and hath called for her. We might thank God, if we could see things as He seeth. The sorrows of her House shall never trouble her." "Poor child!" said Custance in her quiet voice. "Why, good Doctor, we be none of us truly sick, I thank God; but in sooth I did desire you should step in hither, touching Robin." "Touching whom?" asked Dr Thorpe with a faint sound of satire in his tone. But the tone had no effect on Custance. "Touching Robin," she repeated. "I would fain have you to send him some physic, an' it like you." "What shall I send him?" said the Doctor with a grim smile. "A bottle of cider? He lacketh naught else." "Nay, but I fear me he groweth too fast for his strength," answered his mother. "Then give him more meat and drink," was the rather contemptuous reply. "The lad is as strong as a horse: he is only a trifle lazy. He lacketh but stirring up with a poker." "Send us the poker," said his father, laughing. "I am not an ironmonger," retorted the Doctor, again with the same grim smile. "But the boy is all right; women be alway looking out for trouble and taking thought." "But I count you know a mother's fears," answered Custance calmly. "How should I?" said he. "I was never a woman, let alone a mother. I know all women be fools, saving a handful, of whom Isoult Avery, at Bradmond yonder, is queen."