"Christopher Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that need is nigh." "Mind your business, knave," shouted Sir John.

"Am I to be set at naught in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his broken fortunes ?" "If you ask me, I think so," replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he led away the horses.
Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the stable-yard.

Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which, since her mother's death, his daughter had used as her own, for here he guessed that he would find her.

Setting down the lantern upon the passage table, he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and entered.
The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that burned upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in shadow.

Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and here, seated in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing fire falling full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John's only surviving child.