"Here is a molehill, and there a fairy ring."
"I see neither," said Rolfe. "It looks as smooth as a table. But we
can easily shift under the cedars where there is no grass."
"Here's a projecting root," announced the Secretary, when the new
ground had been reached.
Rolfe shrugged his shoulders, but we moved again.
"The light comes jaggedly through the branches," objected my
lord's second. "Better try the open again."
Rolfe uttered an exclamation of impatience, and my lord stamped
his foot on the ground. "What is this foolery, sir?" the latter cried
fiercely. "The ground's well enough, and there 's sufficient light to
die by."
"Let the light pass, then," said his second resignedly. "Gentlemen,
are you read - Ods blood! my lord, I had not noticed the roses upon
your lordship's shoes! They are so large and have such a fall that
they sweep the ground on either side your foot; you might stumble
in all that dangling ribbon and lace. Allow me to remove them."
He unsheathed his knife, and, sinking upon his knees, began
leisurely to sever the threads that held the roses to the leather. As
he worked, he looked neither at the roses nor at my lord's angry
face, but beneath his own bent arm toward the church and the town
beyond.
How long he would have sawed away at the threads there is no
telling; for my lord, amongst whose virtues patience was not one,
broke from him, and with an oath stooped and tore away the
offending roses with his own hand, then straightened himself and
gripped his sword more closely.
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