‘Never, never! That red rose in the snow--I have the leaf in my breviary. And Goodwife Dolly, tell her I’ll never forget how she cosseted the wildered lamb.’ ‘Poor Mother Dolly, when shall I see her?’ ‘Oh! you will be able to have her to share your state, and Watch too! I take none with me.’ ‘If we are all in King Harry’s cause, there will be hope of meeting, and then if--’ ‘Ah! I see a horseman coming! Is it my father?’ It was a horseman who met them, taking off his cap of maintenance and bowing low to the Prioress and the young lady, but it was the seneschal of the castle, not the father whom Anne so dreaded, but an old gentleman, Walter Wenlock, with whom there was a greeting as of an old friend. My lord had gone with the Earl of Warwick to Queen Margaret in France, and had sent a messenger with a letter to meet his daughter at York, and tell her to go to the house of the Poor Clares in London instead of coming home, ‘and there await him.’ The route that had been taken by the party accounted for their not having met the messenger and it was plain that they must go on to London. The evening was beginning to draw in, and a night’s lodging was necessary. Anne assumed a little dignity. ‘My good friends who have guarded me, I hope you will do me the honour to rest for the night in my father’s castle.’ The seneschal bowed acquiescence, but the poor man was evidently sorely perplexed by such an extensive invitation on the part of his young lady on his peace establishment, though the Prioress did her best to assist Anne to set him at ease. ‘Here is Sir Giles Musgrave, the Lord of Peelholm on the Borders, a staunch friend of King Harry, with a band of stout archers, and this gentleman from the north is with him.’ (It had been agreed that the Clifford name should not be mentioned till the way had been felt with Warwick, one of whose cousins had been granted the lands of the Black Lord Clifford.) The seneschal bent before Musgrave courteously, saying he was happy to welcome so good and brave a knight, and he prayed his followers to excuse if their fare was scant and homely, being that he was unprovided for the honour. ‘No matter, sir,’ returned Musgrave; ‘we are used to soldiers’ fare.’ ‘And,’ proceeded Anne, ‘Master Lorimer must lie here, and his wains.’ ‘Master Lorimer,’ said the Prioress, ‘with whom belike--Lorimer of Barnet--Sir Seneschal has had dealings,’ and she put forward the merchant, who had been falling back to his waggon. ‘Yea,’ said Walter Wenlock frankly, holding out his hand. ‘We have bought your wares and made proof of them, good sir. I am glad to welcome you, though I never saw you to the face before.’ ‘Great thanks, good seneschal. All that I would ask would be licence for my wains to stand in your court to-night while my fellows and I sup and lodge at the hostel.’