good? Is it God's will when man speaketh a lie, or
slayeth his fellow, or robbeth a benighted traveller of all his having?
Crack me that nut, Perrote."

"Truly, Dame, I am no priest, to solve such matters."

"Then leave thou to chatter glibly anentis God's will. What wist any
man thereabout?"

Perrote was silent.

"Open the window!" said the Countess, suddenly. "I am dying for lack of
fresh air."

Lifting her hand to her head, she hastily tore off the barb and wimple,
with little respect to the pins which fastened them, and with the result
of a long rent in the former.

"That's for one of you to amend," she said, with a short laugh. "Ye
should be thankful to have somewhat to do provided for you. Ay me!"

The words were uttered in a low long moan.

Perrote made no reply to the petulant words and action. An expression
of tender pity crossed her face, as she stooped and lifted the torn
barb, and examined the rent, with as much apparent calmness as if it had
been damaged in the washing. There was evidently more in her than she
suffered to come forth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. This action, in the estimation of the time, was merely
equivalent to a cordial shaking of hands between the Countess and her
deliverers.

CHAPTER FIVE.

NEW AND STRANGE.

"I stretched mine empty hands for bread,
And see, they have given me stones instead!"

"B.M."

Before anything more could be said, the door opened, and Lady Foljambe
came in. She addressed herself at once to Perrote.

"Did I not bid you alway to lock the door when you should enter? Lo,
here it is unlocked. Wherefore have you a key apart from mine, but that
you should so do?"

"I cry you mercy, Dame," said Perrote, meekly. "Did you ever this
before?"

"I mind not well, Dame."

"Well, of a surety! Call you this guarding a prisoner? Mind you not
that which happed at Tickhill, when she 'scaped forth by aid of that
knight--his name I forget--and had nigh reached the border of the
liberties ere it was discovered? Is this your allegiance and duty?
Dame, I bid you good morrow."

"Better late than never, Avena," said the Countess, a little
satirically. "Thou fond thing, there, lie over twenty years betwixt yon
night at Tickhill and this morrow. And if the night were back, where is
the knight? Nay, Avena Foljambe, I have nought to escape for, now."

"Dame, I must needs say you be r