Whitburn Tower stood on the south side, on a steep cliff overlooking
the sea. The peel tower itself looked high and strong, but to
Grisell, accustomed to the widespread courts of the great castles and
abbeys of the south, the circuit of outbuildings seemed very narrow
and cramped, for truly there was need to have no more walls than
could be helped for the few defenders to guard.
All was open now, and under the arched gateway, with the portcullis
over her head, fitly framing her, stood the tall, gaunt figure of the
lady, grayer, thinner, more haggard than when Grisell had last seen
her, and beside her, leaning on a crutch, a white-faced boy, small
and stunted for six years old.
"Ha, dame! Ha, Bernard; how goes it?" shouted the Baron in his
gruff, hoarse voice.
"He willed to come down to greet you, though he cannot hold your
stirrup," said the mother. "You are soon returned. Is all well with
Rob?"
"O aye, I found Thorslan of Danby and a plump of spears on the way to
the Duke of York at Windsor. They say he will need all his following
if the Beauforts put it about that the King has recovered as much wit
as ever he had. So I e'en sent Rob on with him, and came back so as
to be ready in case there's a call for me. Soh! Berney; on thy feet
again? That's well, my lad; but we'll have thee up the steps."
He seemed quite to have forgotten the presence of Grisell, and it was
Cuthbert Ridley who helped her off her horse, but just then little
Bernard in his father's arms exclaimed
"Black nun woman!"
"By St.
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