“Come, niece,” he said briefly, “we ride at once. And you, Raby, will you bear us company or no?” “I thank you, yes, Sir William,” he replied with alacrity; “all is in readiness; the horses at the door, and my man, whom you admired so much, in attendance.” “The knave will hang,” rejoined Carew, grimly. “Come, Betty, there is no time for fine speeches or farewells. I must set out for Greenwich without delay, and you go with me.” “Whither, uncle?” said Betty, quickly; “surely not to the court?” “And wherefore surely not?” asked Sir William, testily. “I know not what you will do with me there,” his niece said softly. “You go to the queen’s grace, my girl,” Carew replied grimly, “if she will have you.” Master Raby smiled and glanced at Betty. “’Tis come, Mistress Carew,” he whispered, as he helped her to the saddle. “I pray thee tell the king thy mind.” “And so I will, if he asks me, Master Raby,” declared Betty, with spirit, “and, mayhap, it will do him good. A bitter truth is ofttimes wholesome medicine.” CHAPTER IX THE MAN WITH A SCAR IT was a cold and dreary night in London, and through the mist the lights of the inn blinked like great yellow eyes. Within the public room there was much jovial entertainment. It was well filled with guests, some drinking, others playing at dice, and a few eating belated suppers. It was an establishment much patronized by men of fashion, and the assembly was of a less motley character than that of most public houses. Two or three young gentlemen in velvets and satins, with ruffs of fine lace and jewel-hilted weapons, threw dice at one table, while at another sat a stately personage in black velvet, perusing some parchments with the assistance of a shrewd-faced, deferential companion, the one having the appearance of an eminent jurist and the other being, no doubt, his clerk. At yet another table sat some travellers, whose fur-trimmed garments and full wallets suggested wealthy merchants. Mine host bustled about with a rubicund and smiling countenance, attended by several servants and a rosy-faced Hebe bearing the wine cups and glasses. The innkeeper had the air of one who felt his pockets filling and his reputation growing at the same moment; a state of bliss seldom attained except by those who minister to the inner man, the way to a man’s purse, as well as to his heart, being through his stomach. There was a buzz of conversation, the rattle of dice, the click of glasses, but it was yet too early for the potations to take effect, and there was perfect decorum upon all sides.