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"All very well, Roger Harcomb," cried a burly, bull-necked young
man, whose square shoulders and massive limbs told of exceptional
personal strength. "You pass too lightly over the matter. We
are not to be so easily overcrowed. The Lord Loring hath given
his proofs; but we know nothing of his squires, save that one of
them hath a railing tongue. And how of you, young sir?" bringing
his heavy hand down on Alleyne's shoulder.
"And what of me, young sir?"
"Ma foi! this is my lady's page come over. Your cheek will be
browner and your hand harder ere you see your mother again."
"If my hand is not hard, it is ready."
"Ready? Ready for what? For the hem of my lady's train?"
"Ready to chastise insolence, sir," cried Alleyne with hashing
eyes.
"Sweet little coz!" answered the burly squire. "Such a dainty
color! Such a mellow voice! Eyes of a bashful maid, and hair
like a three years' babe! Voila!" He passed his thick fingers
roughly through the youth's crisp golden curls.
"You seek to force a quarrel, sir," said the young man, white
with anger.


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