Thou hast been angered with baiting until thou wouldst run
at every dog that comes into the paddock, though he fawned on thee, and
were never so trusty and well-behaved."
Gregory was silent. He looked upwards to the bright moon and the
quenched orbs that lay about her path. Again Elizabeth whispered, first
looking cautiously around--
"Wilt do me a service?"
"Ay, for hire," he quickly answered.
"If thine errand is done faithfully, thou mayest get more largess than
thou dream'st of."
"Ye want a spoon belike, that ye soil not your delicate fingers?"
"Ay, Gregory, an' thou wilt, we 'll first use thee."
"And then the spoon shall be broken, I trow. Well, if I am a spoon, I'll
be a golden one, and I shall be worth something when I'm done with.
Understand ye this, fair mistress?"
"Yes, knave; and thou shalt have thy reward."
"What! I shall swing the highest, eh?"
"Peace; I want a messenger. Take this."
"Not treason, I trow," said Gregory, as he eyed the billet with a
curious but hesitating glance.
"Go by the nearer path to the wood. Where the road divides to the ford
and the farther pastures; take the latter, then turn to the right, where
the old fir-tree rises above the rock.
Pages:
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908