This curtain hangs before the door of my
bedroom, this before a window looking into a side street," and he drew
the curtains aside for a moment to show that he spoke truly.
Marriott nodded and drank more wine.
"We can talk quite freely," said Rosmore, seating himself again at the
table opposite to his guest. "There is a woman you have promised to help
should she ask you."
"No; you are mistaken."
"Think, Marriott. The promise may have been made at Aylingford Abbey."
"Do you mean Mistress Lanison?"
Rosmore nodded his head slowly.
"Ah, yes, I did make some kind of promise," said Marriott. "A gallantry,
Rosmore, and I would make my words good if I had the chance."
"And the bribe?" Rosmore asked.
"As you have just said, that can be no concern of yours."
"That is not so certain. It happens that you have the chance. Mistress
Lanison is in Dorchester--a prisoner."
Marriott sprang to his feet.
"The devil! Who had her arrested?"
Rosmore shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not know, but the fact remains, she is a prisoner. This I can tell
you, she journeyed to the West to appeal to you on behalf of Gilbert
Crosby, and was arrested on the way.
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