"
"You know my father?" she asked, surprised.
"Know of him. My Lord Brocton was boasting last night of his capture--and
of other things," he lamely concluded.
"Is he boasting this morning?" I asked.
"I have not seen him," he said, "but Mistress Dobson told me she thought
he'd been rooks'-nesting and had fallen off the poplar."
"I met him again," said I, "and did not like his conversation."
"Master Wheatman means," explained Mistress Waynflete, "that he saved me
from my Lord Brocton's clutches at the imminent risk of his own life." She
stretched out her hands and touched the holes in my coat with her white,
slender fingers. "My lord's rapier made these," she said.
"An inch to the left, my friend," quoth Master Freake, "and you'd have
been as dead as mutton. His lordship, it seems, is busily piling up a big
account with both of us. Well, in my own way, I'll make the rascal pay as
dearly as you have in yours. If you will be pleased to accept my help,
madam, I will do all I can for you. There are, fortunately, other means
than carnal weapons of influencing such persons as Lord Brocton.
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