est of
her life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that
she dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught
availed. Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob's tale were true, after
passing many dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his
health. Yet in those times death came quickly, leaping like the
lightning from unexpected clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who
could say? Besides, he believed her gone, and that being so would be
careless of himself, or perchance, worst thought of all, would take some
other wife, as was but right and natural. Oh! then indeed----

At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and
she looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them.
A coarse fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in
liquor, had amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red
hair, and asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native
fields.

Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question:
whether he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to
light their fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him,
and noticing the child in Cicely's arms pointed it out to his friends,
inquiring whether they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then
Thomas's rage burnt up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.

"You low, London gutter-hound!" he exclaimed; "I'll learn you to insult
the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes," and stretching out his big
fist he seized his enemy's purple nose in a grip of iron and began to
twist it till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would
have arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King's palace. Indeed,
arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do
to save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the
crowd that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a
quick, clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap
and gown.

Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after
the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that
of her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth,
small as a woman's, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close
together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look,
and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, thoug