* * * * *
Meanwhile, ten miles away, along the Uppingham and Leicester track, rode
a young man through the dark.
III
Sunday, too, passed as usual.
At half-past eight the bells of the church pealed out for the morning
service, and the village street was thronged with worshippers and a few
soldiers. At nine o'clock they ceased, and the street was empty. At
eleven o'clock the trumpets sounded to announce change of guard, and to
tell the kitchen folk that dishing-time was come. Half an hour later
once more the little procession glinted a moment through the
ground-floor window of the Queen's stair as her Grace went to dinner.
(She was not very well, the cooks had reported, and had eaten but little
last night.) At twelve o'clock she came out again and went upstairs; and
at the same time, in Leicester, a young man, splashed from head to foot,
slipped off a draggled and exhausted horse and went into an inn,
ordering a fresh horse to be ready for him at three o'clock.
And so once more the sun went down, and the little rituals were
performed, and the guards were changed, and M. Landet, for the last time
in his life (though he did not know it), came out from the kitchen with
his white rod to bear it before the dishes of a Queen; and Sir Amyas
walked in from the orchard and was saluted, and Mr. FitzWilliam went his
rounds, and the drawbridge was raised. And, at the time that the
drawbridge was raised, a young man on a horse was wondering when he
should see the lights of Burton.
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