Too long, my dear Aunt Marjory, unless the pedlar takes all summer to
mount the stairs. But you know my Lord and father fled into sanctuary
at Merton Abbey, and refused to leave it unless the Lord King would
pledge his royal word for his safety. I don't think I should have
thought it made much difference. (I wonder if that pedlar has any
silversmiths' work.) The Lord King did not pledge his word, but he
ordered the Lord Mayor and the citizens to fetch my fair father--only
think of that, Aunt Marjory!--dead or alive. Some of the nobler
citizens appealed to the Bishop, who was everything with the King just
then: but instead of interceding for my fair father, as they asked, he
merely confirmed the order. So twenty thousand citizens marched on the
Abbey; and when my fair father knew that, he fled to the high altar, and
embraced the holy cross with one hand, holding the blessed pix in the
other."

"Was our Lord in the pix?" inquired Marjory--meaning, of course, to
refer to the consecrated wafer.

"I am not sure, fair Aunt. But however, things turned out better than
seemed likely: for not only the Bishop of Chichester, but even my Lord
of Chester--my fair father's great enemy--interceded with the Lord King
in his behalf. We heard that my Lord of Chester spoke very plainly to
him, and told him not only that he would find it easier to draw a crowd
together than to get rid of it again, but also that his fickleness would
scandalise the world."

"And the Lord King allowed him to say that?"

"Yes, and it had a great effect upon him. I think people who are fickle
don't like others to see it--don't you? Do you think that pedlar will
have any sendal [a silk stuff of extremely fine quality] of India?"

"Thine eyes and half thy tongue are in the pedlar's pack, Magot. I
cannot tell thee. But just let me know how it ended, and thy fair
father was set free."

"Oh, it did not end for ever so long! My Lord's Grace of Dublin got
leave for him to come home and see my fair mother and me; and after
that, when he had gone into Essex, the King sent after him again, and
Sir Godfrey de Craucumbe took him away to the Tower. They sent for a
smith to put him in fetters, but the man would not do it when he heard
who was to wear the fetters. He said he would rather die than be the
man to put chains on `that most faithful and noble Hubert, who so often
saved England from the ravages of foreigners, and restored England to
herself.' A