He slapped his blade back into its sheath. “Then that's over and done with, for the nonce at least! Sufficient unto the day, etcetera. 'S life! I'm hot and dry! You've sacked cities, Ralph Percy; now sack me the minister's closet and bring out his sherris I'll be at charges for the next communion.” We sat us down upon the doorstep with a tankard of sack between us, and Master Pory drank, and drank, and drank again. “How's the crop?” he asked. “Martin reports it poorer in quality than ever, but Sir George will have it that it is very Varinas.” “It's every whit as good as the Spanish,” I answered. “You may tell my Lord Warwick so, when next you write.” He laughed. If he was a timeserver and leagued with my Lord Warwick's faction in the Company, he was a jovial sinner. Traveler and student, much of a philosopher, more of a wit, and boon companion to any beggar with a pottle of ale,--while the drink lasted,--we might look askance at his dealings, but we liked his company passing well. If he took half a poor rustic's crop for his fee, he was ready enough to toss him sixpence for drink money; and if he made the tenants of the lands allotted to his office leave their tobacco uncared for whilst they rowed him on his innumerable roving expeditions up creeks and rivers, he at least lightened their labors with most side-splitting tales, and with bottle songs learned in a thousand taverns. “After to-morrow there'll be more interesting news to write,” he announced. “You're a bold man, Captain Percy.” He looked at me out of the corners of his little twinkling eyes. I sat and smoked in silence. “The King begins to dote upon him,” he said; “leans on his arm, plays with his hand, touches his cheek. Buckingham stands by, biting his lip, his brow like a thundercloud. You'll find in to-morrow's antagonist, Ralph Percy, as potent a conjurer as your cousin Hotspur found in Glendower. He'll conjure you up the Tower, and a hanging, drawing, and quartering. Who touches the King's favorite had safer touch the King. It's _lese-majeste_‚ you contemplate.” He lit his pipe and blew out a great cloud of smoke, then burst into a roar of laughter. “My Lord High Admiral may see you through. Zooks! there'll be a raree-show worth the penny, behind the church to-morrow, a Percy striving with all his might and main to serve a Villiers! Eureka! There is something new under the sun, despite the Preacher!” He blew out another cloud of smoke. By this the tankard was empty, and his cheeks were red, his eyes moist, and his laughter very ready. “Where's the Lady Jocelyn Leigh?” he asked. “May I not have the honor to kiss her hand before I go?” I stared at him. “I do not understand you,” I said coldly. “There 's none within but Mistress Percy. She is weary, and rests after her journey. We came from Weyanoke this morning.”