in France. Edward of
England needs the service of such a sword and such a bow."

"You shall have them both, Sire," broke in Hugh, "for what they are
worth. Moreover, I pray your Grace be not angry with Grey Dick's words,
for if God gave him a quick eye, He also gave him a rough tongue."

"Not I, Hugh de Cressi, for know, we love what is rough if it be also
honest. It is smooth, false words of treachery that we hate, such words
as are ever on the lips of one whom we send you forth to bring to his
account. Now to your duty. Farewell till we meet again, whether it be
here or where all men, true or traitors, must foot their bill at last."

CHAPTER VI

THE SNARE

About noon of the day on which Hugh and his company had ridden for
London, another company entered Dunwich--namely, Sir John Clavering and
many of his folk, though with him were neither Sir Edmund Acour nor any
of his French train. Sir John's temper had never been of the best, for
he was a man who, whatever his prosperity, found life hard and made it
harder for all those about him. But seldom had he been angrier than he
was this day, when his rage was mingled with real sorrow for the loss of
his only son, slain in a fight brought about by the daughter of one of
them and the sister of the other and urged for honour's sake by himself,
the father of them both.

Moreover, the marriage on which he had set his heart between Eve and the
glittering French lord whose future seemed so great had been brought to
naught, and this turbulent, hot-hearted Eve had fled into sanctuary. Her
lover, too, the youngest son of a merchant, had ridden away to London,
doubtless upon some mission which boded no good to him or his, leaving
a blood feud behind him between the wealthy de Cressis and all the
Clavering kin.

There was but one drop of comfort in his cup. By now, as he hoped, Hugh
and his death's-head, Grey Dick, a spawn of Satan that all the country
feared, and who, men said, was a de Cressi bastard by a witch, were
surely slain or taken by those who followed upon their heels.

Sir John rode to the Preceptory and hammered fiercely on its oaken door.
Presently it was opened by Sir Andrew Arnold himself, who stood in the
entrance, grey and grim, a long sword girt about his loins and armour
gleaming beneath his monkish robe.

"What would you, Sir John Clavering, that you knock at this holy house
thus rudely?" he asked.

"My daughter, priest, who, they say, has sheltered