d into
his wife's room, and asked her where she was going that winter day.

"You are scarce wont to inquire into my comings and goings," she said,
coldly. "But if it do your Lordship ease to wit the same, I am going to
Hazelwood Manor, whence yonder young gentleman is now come."

"How if I forbid it?"

"My Lord, I am sent for to my dying mother. Your Lordship is a
gentleman, I believe, and therefore not like to forbid me. But if you
so did, yea, twenty times twice told, I should answer you as now I do.
Seven years have I done your bidding, and when I return I will do it yet
again. But not now. Neither you, nor Satan himself, should stay me
this one time."

"Your Ladyship losengeth," [flatters] was the careless answer. "Fare
you well. I'll not hinder you. As for Satan, though it pleaseth you to
count me in with him, I'll be no surety for his doings. Master
Foljambe, go you after this crack-brained dame of mine, or tarry you
here with me and drink a cup of Malvoisie wine?"

Godfrey would very much have preferred to remain with Lord Basset; but a
wholesome fear of his father and the Archbishop together restrained him
from doing so. He was exceedingly vexed to be made to continue his
journey thus without intermission; but Lady Basset was already on a
pillion behind her squire, and Emeriarde on another behind the groom, a
few garments having been hastily squeezed into a saddle-bag carried by
the latter. This summary way of doing things was almost unheard of in
the fourteenth century; and Godfrey entertained a private opinion that
"crack-brained" was a truthful epithet.

"Needs must," said he; "wherefore I pray your Lordship mercy. Her
Ladyship shall scantly make good road to Hazelwood without I go withal.
But--_ha, chetife_!"

Lord Basset slightly laughed, kissed his hand to his wife, lifted his
hat to Godfrey with a shrug of his shoulders, and walked back into
Drayton Manor House.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

TOO LITTLE.

"God's very kindest answers to our prayers
Come often in denials or delays."

S.W. Partridge.

Lord Basset turned back into his house with a sensation akin to relief.
Not that he allowed the thought of his wife's unhappiness to deter him
from any course on which he had set his heart, but that he felt the
pressure of her atmosphere, and could not enjoy his transgressions with
the full _abandon_ which he would have liked. Her stately, cold,
unbending reserve was like a constant