r;--she
nodded again--'And that to a man is a great solace.'

He fled with precipitancy from the thought of this solace, brushing
through the narrow passages, stalking across the great guest-chamber
and the greater kitchen where, in the falling dusk, the fires glowed
red upon the maids' faces and the cooks' aprons, the smoke rose
unctuously upward tended with rich smells of meat, and the windjacks
clanked in the chimneys. She trotted behind him, weeping in the
gloaming.

'If you come to be chancellor in five years,' she whimpered, 'I shall
come across the seas to ye. If ye fail, this shall be your plenteous
house.'

Whilst she hung round his neck in the shadowy courtyard and he had
already one foot in the stirrup, she begged for one more great speech.

'Before Jupiter!' he said, 'I can think of none for crying!'

The big black horse, with its bags before and behind the saddle,
stirred, so that, standing upon one foot, he fell away from her. But
he swung astride the saddle, his cloak flying, his long legs clasping
round the belly. It reared and pawed the twilight mists, but he smote
it over one ear with his palm, and it stood trembling.

'This is a fine beast y'have given me,' he said, pleasure thrilling
his limbs.

'I have given it a fine rider!' she cried. He wheeled it near her and
stooped right down to kiss her face. He was very sure in his saddle,
having learned the trick of the stirrup from old Rowfant, that had
taught the King.

'Wife,' he said, 'I have bethought me of this: _Post equitem
sedet_----' He faltered--'_sedet--Behind the rider sitteth_--But for
the life of me I know not whether it be _atra cura_ or no.'

And, as he left Paris gates behind him and speeded towards the black
hills, bending low to face the cold wind of night, for the life of him
he knew not whether black care sat behind him or no. Only, as night
came down and he sped forward, he knew that he was speeding for
England with the great news that the Duke of Cleves was seeking to
make his peace with the Emperor and the Pope through the mediancy of
the king of that land and, on the soft road, the hoofs of the horse
seemed to beat out the rhythm of the words:

'Crummock is down: Cromwell is down. Crummock is down: Cromwell is
down.'

He rode all through the night thinking of these things, for, because
he carried letters from the English ambassador to the King of England,
the gates of no small town could stay his passing through.