It was a tradition at Brentwood that no visitor, however humble, should walk six steps within the threshold dry-lipped, and old Jacob, who loved a gossip only less than a drink, was exceedingly careful not to break through this hospitable practice.
Sir Marmaduke, blinking like an old owl in the daylight, adjusted his wig, shook himself to rights, and, ignoring his wife's uneasiness, wandered off scarce half-awake, to receive the new arrival in the justice-room.
There were few eavesdroppers at Brentwood, least of all at that hour of the day. A general stagnation habitually pervaded the establishment from dinner-time till dusk. The men slumbered over the fire in the hall, the women, at least the elder ones, crossed their arms under their aprons, and dozed in the kitchen; the younger maids stole out to meet their bachelors in the wood-house of the cattle-sheds. Even Rupert, the old mastiff, retired to his kennel, and unless the provocation was of an extraordinary nature, refused to open more than one eye at a time, so that fear was uncalled-for, which Alice obviously entertained, lest her communication to Sir Marmaduke should be overheard.
The latter concluding it was the usual grievance, cast a hasty glance at the girl as he passed on to the leathern arm-chair that formed his throne, but seating himself thereon, and obtaining a full view of her face, gave a start of recognition, and exclaimed in surprise—
"Why, it's Mistress Alice! Take a chair, Mistress Alice, and believe me, you're welcome. Heartily welcome, however tangled be the skein you've brought me to unravel."
Pretty Alice of the "Hamilton Arms" was as well known as the sign of that hostelry itself to every hard-riding, beer-drinking, cattle-jobbing, country gentleman within fifty miles. Sir Marmaduke often said, and sometimes swore, that "he didn't care how they bred 'em in London and thereabouts, but to his mind Alice was the likeliest girl he saw north o' Trent, be t'other who she might!"
The object of his admiration, standing very near the door, hoped "Lady Umpleby and the young ladies were well," a benevolent wish it seemed she had walked all this
