"Humph! Sweet wench, thou takest over much thought for the safety of thy young kinsman. But ’tis a brave lad and a true. I grieve he should have suffered harm. But come in. Simon, I have heard news. I would I could get me to France." While father and daughter were talking together, the serving-man, who was the same rough fisherman who had spoken to Bowerman after the tourney was over the evening before, had lighted a torch, and was spreading a simple meal on the top of a chest, which served for a table. There was the same strange mixture of gorgeousness and squalor in the appointments of the repast as in the food itself. A richly-chased silver flagon contained wine, which, from its fragrance and colour, seemed the very choicest Burgundy. Coarse bread flanked an enamelled bowl of Limoges ware which held the butter, stale and rancid from the time it had been there. A meat pasty was served in a pewter dish, while a richly-chased knife was ill assorted with a wooden trencher. After they had eaten, the knight and his varlet talked earnestly for some time. The young girl sat apart. After putting away the remains of the supper, and washing up the things, she sat down on a chest near the fire, and seem to pay no heed to the conversation of the others. She was a pretty child, with long dark-brown hair, which waved and strayed from under her little close-fitting red cap. Her large soft brown eyes had a wistful expression in them, and her flexible mouth, which usually was parted in merry smiles, or arch fun, was now pursed up in grave thought. Her face was sunburnt, and her dress simple and patched. Suddenly her attention was caught by hearing her father mention a name she knew. "Oh, father!" she broke in, unable to master her suspicions, and her impulsive indignation overcoming her habitual awe of her father, "I hope they will catch that Bowerman. What a base caitiff, to stab his friend so foully!" "Marry, little wench, who told thee to speak?" said her father, stroking the glossy hair. The child was always in much awe of her father, and nothing but the hot impulse of her anger would have made her burst out as she had done. She now hung her head a little lower, but looking up shyly after a moment, she said, in a soft, winning tone,-- "But, father, think of it! You are noble, and would never injure your foe save in fair fight and face to face. How I wish all this fighting was over, and there were no such things as foes. Oh dear," she sighed, "I am so tired of it all!" "Tush, child, you should not have come away from Appuldurcombe: the sisters should not let you roam like this." "’Twasn’t their fault, father; I stole out to help John see to the cows, and then I thought I would come on over here and see you."