Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
'As well as e'er a knave in your lordship's stables. I am very sorry to
displease you, but to my dog's death I cannot and will not consent.
Pardon me, my lord.'
The last words brought with them a stifled sob, for she scarcely doubted
any more that he was in earnest.
'It is assuredly not gratifying to a marquis of the king's making to
have one of a damsel's dubbing take the precedence of him. I fear you
are a roundhead and hold by the parliament. But no--that cannot be, for
you are willing to forsake your new cousin for your old dog. Nay, alas!
it is your old cousin for your young dog. Puritan! puritan! Well, it
cannot be helped. But what! you would ride home alone! Evil men are
swarming, child. This sultry weather brings them out like flies.'
'I shall not be alone, my lord. Marquis will take good care of me.'
'Indeed, my lord marquis will pledge himself to nothing outside his own
walls.'
'I meant the dog, my lord.'
'Ah! you see how awkward it is. However, as you will not choose between
us--and to tell the truth, I am not yet quite prepared to die--we must
needs encounter what is inevitable. I will send for one of the keepers
to take him to the smithy, and get him a proper collar--one he can't
slip like that he left at home--and a chain.'
'I must go with him myself, my lord. They will never manage him else.'
'What a demon you have brought into my peaceable house! Go with him, by
all means. And mind you choose him a kennel yourself.--You do not desire
him in your chamber, do you, mistress?'
Dorothy secretly thought it would be the best place for him, but she was
only too glad to have his life spared.
'No, my lord, I thank you,' she said. '--I thank your lordship with all
my heart.'
The marquis disappeared from the window. Presently young Scudamore came
into the court from the staircase by the gate, and crossed to the
hall--in a few minutes returning with the keeper. The man would have
taken the dog by the neck to lead him away, but a certain form of canine
curse, not loud but deep, and a warning word from Dorothy, made him
withdraw his hand.
'Take care, Mr. Keeper,' she said, 'he is dangerous. I will go with him
myself, if thou wilt show me whither.'
'As it please you, mistress,' answered the keeper, and led the way
across the court.
'Have you not a word to throw at a poor cousin, mistress Dorothy?' said
Rowland, when the man was a pace or two in advance.
'No, Mr. Scudamore,' answered Dorothy; 'not until we have first spoken
in my lord Worcester's or my lady Margaret's presence.'
Scudamore fell behind, followed her a little way, and somewhere
vanished.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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