"You will forgive our lack of provisions," said Warner, relapsing into
the courteous fashions of his elder days, which the unwonted spectacle
of a cold capon, a pasty, and a flask of wine brought to his mind by a
train of ideas that actively glided by the intervening circumstances,
which ought to have filled him with astonishment at the sight, "for
my Sibyll is but a young housewife, and I am a simple scholar, of few
wants."

"Verily," answered Marmaduke, finding his tongue as he attacked the
pasty, "I see nothing that the most dainty need complain of; fair
Mistress Sibyll, your dainty lips will not, I trow, refuse me the
waisall. [I.e. waissail or wassal; the spelling of the time is adopted
in the text.] To you also, worshipful sir! Gramercy! it seems that there
is nothing which better stirs a man's appetite than a sick bed. And,
speaking thereof, deign to inform me, kind sir, how long I have been
indebted to your hospitality. Of a surety, this pasty hath an excellent
flavour, and if not venison, is something better. But to return, it
mazes me much to think what time hath passed since my encounter with the
robbers."

"They were robbers, then, who so cruelly assailed thee?" observed
Sibyll.

"Have I not said so--surely, who else? And, as I was remarking to your
worshipful father, whether this mischance happened hours, days, months,
or years ago, beshrew me if I can venture the smallest guess."

Master Warner smiled, and observing that some reply was expected from
him, said, "Why, indeed, young sir, I fear I am almost as oblivious as
yourself. It was not yesterday that you arrived, nor the day before,
nor--Sibyll, my child, how long is it since this gentleman hath been our
guest?"

"This is the fifth day," answered Sibyll.

"So long! and I like a senseless log by the wayside, when others are
pushing on, bit and spur, to the great road. I pray you, sir, tell me
the news of the morning. The Lord Warwick is still in London, the court
still at the Tower?"

Poor Adam, whose heart was with his model, and who had now satisfied
his temperate wants, looked somewhat bewildered and perplexed by this
question. "The king, save his honoured head," said he, inclining his
own, "is, I fear me, always at the Tower, since his unhappy detention,
but he minds it not, sir,--he heeds it not; his soul is not on this side
Paradise."

Sibyll uttered a faint exclamation of fear at this dangerous
indiscretion of her father's absence