es.
When he stuttered:

'Nick Throckmorton had it!' her hand fell powerless to her side; but
when he added: 'He gave it to Privy Seal!' she cast the tongs into the
brands to save herself from cleaving open his head.

'God!' she said drily, 'you have lost your advancement. And I mine!...
And I mine.'

She wavered to her chair by the hearth-place, and covered her face
with her white hands.

The boy got to his knees, then to his feet; he staggered backwards
into the arras beside the door.

'God's curse on you!' he said. 'Where is Margot? That I may beat her!
That I may beat her as you have beaten me.' He waved his hand with a
tipsy ferocity and staggered through the door.

'Was it for this I did play the ---- for thee?' he menaced her. 'By
Cock! I will swinge that harlot!'

The old knight got to his feet. He laid his hand heavily upon Cicely
Elliott's shoulder.

'Best begone from here,' he said, 'this is no quarrel of mine or
thine.'

'Why, get thee gone, old boy,' she laughed over her shoulder. 'Seven
of my men have been done to death in such like marlocks. I would not
have thee die as they did.'

'Come with me,' he said in her ear. 'I have dropped my lance. Never
shall I ride to horse again. I would not lose thee; art all I have.'

'Why, get thee gone for a brave old boy,' she said. 'I will come ere
the last pynot has chattered its last chatter.'

'It is no light matter,' he answered. 'I am Rochford of Bosworth
Hedge. But I have lost lance and horse and manhood. I will not lose my
dandery thing too.'

Katharine Howard sat, a dark figure in the twilight, with the fire
shining upon her hands that covered her face. Cicely Elliott looked at
her and stirred.

'Why,' she said, 'I have lost father and mother and men-folk and
sister. But my itch to know I will not lose, if I pay my head for the
price. I would give a silken gown to know this tale.'

Katharine Howard uncovered her face; it shewed white even in the rays
of the fire. One finger raised itself to a level with her temple.

'Listen!' she uttered. They heard through the closed door a dull thud,
metallic and hard--and another after four great beats of their hearts.

'Pikestaves!' the old knight groaned. His mouth fell open. Katharine
Howard shrieked; she sprang to the clothes press, to the window--and
then to the shadows beside the fireplace where she cowered and sobbed.
The door swung back: a great man stood in the half light and cried
out:

'Th