"Will Dacre of Whitburn's maid? That's ill, poor child! How fell it
out?"
"That I know as little as you," was the answer. "I have been seeing
to the poor little maid's hurts."
Lord Salisbury placed her in the chair like his own. In point of
fact, she was Countess in her own right; he, Richard Nevil, had been
created Earl of Salisbury in her right on the death of her father,
the staunch warrior of Henry V. in the siege of Orleans.
"Speak out, Leonard Copeland," said the Earl. "What hast thou done?"
The boy only growled, "I never meant to hurt the maid."
"Speak to the point, sir," said Lord Salisbury sternly; "give
yourself at least the grace of truth."
Leonard grew more silent under the show of displeasure, and only hung
his head at the repeated calls to him to speak. The Earl turned to
those who were only too eager to accuse him.
"He took a bar of iron from the forge, so please you, my lord, and
put it to the barrel of powder."
"Is this true, Leonard?" demanded the Earl again, amazed at the
frantic proceeding, and Leonard muttered "Aye," vouchsafing no more,
and looking black as thunder at a fair, handsome boy who pressed to
his side and said, "Uncle," doffing his cap, "so please you, my lord,
the barrels had just been brought in upon Hob Carter's wain, and
Leonard said they ought to have the Lord Earl's arms on them. So he
took a bar of hot iron from the forge to mark the saltire on them,
and thereupon there was this burst of smoke and flame, and the maid,
who was leaning over, prying into his doings, had the brunt thereof.
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