"Nay, fair page," said Ralph smiling, "I would be loth to do aught that should be misbecoming, and will ever obey in all that I ought, with all humility, but I am not sure in this that I ought to do your behest. Nevertheless, rather than be thought churlish, I will do what you want, only not, I pray you to understand, because I fear your talk of leathern straps and such like, of which I have little dread from thee, but because ’tis the first matter I have been asked to do, and I would rather seem to be over willing to oblige than churlish of mood." "By my faith, ’tis a good answer," said the last page who had spoken to Richard Cheke, and who was the only one of the pages who was of high birth. He was a son of Anthony, Lord Scales, brother to Lord Woodville, and therefore himself a Woodville, and nephew to the present Captain of the Wight, which office his father had previously held. "I like this youth dearly, even now--he will be a gain to us. Thou knowest I never cared over-much for thy kinsman Bowerman, he is so mighty coxcombified, and I would much like to see him overmatched," continued Maurice Woodville. They had now entered the old city of Winchester, whose streets were very narrow, and made more so by the concourse of people, who all came thronging out and stood at their doors and along the pavement to see the gay troop pass. Ralph, as he said he would deliver the note to Sir John Trenchard, took the opportunity of doing so when they were nearing the city cross, then not more than about fifty years old, perhaps, and where there was more room. He rode up alongside of the old knight, and, doffing his cap, presented to him the missive. The old knight, who was short-sighted and rather choleric, besides being a very indifferent scholar, took the paper, and stared at Ralph. "Eh, this for me?" he said shortly; then holding the piece of paper close to his nose, he called out,--"Why--what--By St Thomas! what meaneth this? Boy, art playing me some trick? Is this a time for thy discourteous pranks?" cried the old knight, in high wrath, crumpling up the paper, and flinging it at Ralph. "Tell me what meaneth this! Who gave thee this?" But Ralph determined he would bear the blame himself, and settle it with his practical joker afterwards, so he said,-- "Noble sir, I was told to give it thee, so I did." "By St Nicholas! but if thou hadst had mud given thee to bear to me, thou wouldst have done it, wouldst thou? Get thee back for a simpleton, and tell me all afterwards, when I call for thee."