212 MASTER SKYLARK

son; yet Heaven spare thee father such asI! For, Nick,
I love thee. Yet thou dost hate me like a poison thing.
And still I love thee, on my word, and on the remnant of
mine honour!” His voice was husky. “Let thee go?—
send thee back?—eat my sweet and have it too?—how?
Nay, nay; thy happy cake would be my dough—it will
not serve.” He shook his head, and looked about to see
that all was fast. “Yet, Nick, I say I love thee, on my
soul!”

Slipping to the bedside with stealthy step, he laid a fat
little Banbury cheese and some brown sweet cakes beside
Nick’s pillow; then came out hurriedly and barred the
door.

The fire in the great hall had gone out, and the room
was growing cold. The table stood by the chimney-side,
where supper had been laid. Carew brought a napkin
from the linen-chest, and spread it upon the board. Then
he went to the server’s screen and looked behind it, and
tried the latches of the doors; and having thus made sure
that all was safe, came back to the table again, and set-
ting the rush-light there, turned the contents of his purse
into the napkin.

There were both gold and silver. The silver he put back
into the purse again; the gold he counted carefully ; and
as he counted, laying the pieces one by one in little heaps
upon the cloth, he muttered under his breath, like a small
boy adding up his sums in school, saying over and over
again, “One for me, and one for thee, and two for Cicely
Carew. One for me, and one for thee, and two for Cicely