‘I have often wondered and wanted to ask you, Clerivault. You remember that day, so long ago, when we first met?’ ‘Ay,’ answered the other curtly, and with a watchful manner, as if he foresaw what was coming and prepared himself with his guard. ‘You would know of me, would you not,’ said Brion, ‘where Master Angell lived?’ ‘Ay,’ was the short answer again. ‘Yet you had no need to learn.’ ‘Had I not? Your reason, an it please you?’ ‘Because you knew already; else had Master Angell not asked astonied what brought you there, and, out of your wont, by day.’ Clerivault made an acrid face. ‘A certain Grecian was heard to remark,’ said he, ‘that he detested a boon-companion with a memory. Are my sins, then, to find me out, and in the name of friendship?’ ‘So you own you meant to deceive me?’ ‘It would seem so.’ ‘Why, Clerivault?’ ‘I will tell you, like an honest man. It was not in his Honour’s then design to confess your relationship, and I, who acted as his purse-bearer, judged it advisable to give your sharp infancy no chance scent to nose on. Wherefore, though I had been there many times before, I appeared ignorant.’ ‘And you came, out of your wont, by day? Why?’ ‘These whys are like house-flies. Brush one away and another settles. I came, if you would know, to bring a message. There’s a simple answer to a simple question.’ Brion pondered awhile, his clear eyes fixed on the other’s conscious face. ‘Had the message aught to do, I marvel,’ said he suddenly, ‘with two that accosted me at the Queen’s passing the next day? They were the Lord of Leicester for one, and with him a sweet lady.’ Clerivault gave a little gasp, and looked up, and down again. ‘God’s ’slid!’ he exclaimed; and bit his lip. ‘What mad question is this?’ ‘Is it mad?’ said the boy. ‘Well, then, it is mad. Yet there were the two, riding alone and seeming to look for my master and me, where we stood, by his directing, apart from the others. And when they espied us they drew rein, and the lady bade me to put foot in her stirrup; and she held me, and, as she held, she kissed my lips and whispered if I was happy.’ Clerivault cleared his throat, yet answered as if something still obstructed it:-- ‘A mere casual impulse, Sir--take my word on’t. Something moved her in thy baby face: perchance she had lost a child. And, as to this Leicester, as you call him----’ ‘Not I. It was one spake him so, riding back with a message from the Queen. And the lord was wrathful to be so confessed, and struck the man with his whip across the face, so that I could have struck him in his turn.’ Clerivault, with his mouth forming an answer, stared as if petrified. He had never yet seen such fire in this discreet dove’s eyes, and it opened his own. ‘In law, hearsay is no evidence,’ he began, muttering; but the dove stooped upon him with flaming vision:-- ‘Do you dare to question my word?’ Clerivault started back.