Master Penry had been right! The cloak was stoutly padded with printed sheets, of which I took out fully three score. They were all the same, a short tractate of twelve pages duodecimo, set in my master's type (for I recognised the letter and the flowered initials), and printed, there was no doubt now, at his secret press.

The title of the tractate was "A Whip for the Bishops," and to my wrath and confusion as I read, I found it contained wicked and scandalous abuse of their Graces of Canterbury and London, whom it called wolves in sheep's clothing, antichrists, and I know not what horrid names besides! And it was to carry this wicked libel I had been sped on this journey, decked with my brave cloak, and commended to that Welsh varlet, who, no doubt, was the author, and counted on me as the tool to help him to disseminate his blasphemous treason! He little knew Humphrey Dexter. Although I had put a queen's officer in the duck-pond; although I had assaulted a mayor; although I had defied a bishop's warrant, and made off on a bishop's horse, I yet was a loyal subject of Her Majesty, and hated schismatics as I hated the Pope himself. They had played me a trick among them; I would play them one back.

So I gathered up the libels, and dropped them one and all, together with the false lining of the coat, into the hollow of a rotten tree; where, for all I know, they may be to this day. And if, years hence, some lover of the curious should seek to add to the treasures of his library a true copy of that famous lost tract, "A Whip for the Bishops," let me tell him in his ear, the book is to be had cheap, midway across Shotover wood, somewhere to the left of the lower path which leads to Heddendon. Nowhere else was it ever published, to that I can vouch.

I had scarcely finished my task when I heard a whoop from among the trees, followed immediately by the whiz of an arrow which glanced betwixt my cheek and my shoulder, and buried its head deep in the trunk of a near tree.

I had scarcely time to face round and draw my sword, when I perceived coming down the glade my wild scholar with a bow in his hand, and a dead fox on his back. He had plainly not seen who I was at first, but recognised me as soon as I turned. He marched gravely towards me, equally heedless of my drawn sword, and of the shaft which a moment ago had all but taken my life.

"Is it you?" said he; "I took you, in your cap and gown, for my tutor."

"You all but killed me, too," said I, wrathfully.

"Ay, it was a bad shot. Yet, had you not moved your head, it would have spiked you by the ear to that tree. What brings you here?"

I was taken aback by the coolness of the fellow, who talked about spiking me by the ear as if I had been the fox he carried on his back.

"Marry," said I, "you should know what brings me here. My horse and my cloak, they brought me here, sirrah."

"Nay, they brought me here; but I am not sorry to see you. I was about to return to the inn, to look for you."

I flushed to the roots of my hair, to think how readily I had set this man down as a runaway thief. Never was a face less deceitful, or a manner less suspicious; and I, if I had not been a fool, might have known as much.

"I did you an injustice," said I, returning my sword, "I believed you had given me the slip, and were—"

"A thief," said he, with a scornful curl on his lips. "I thank you, master 'prentice."

I would sooner he had cut at me with his dirk. But further parley was ended by a sudden noise of horns and a tramp of horses close by.

I sprang to the alert in an instant.

"The bishop's men!" cried I, "we are pursued. Fly!"

"Too late for that," said my comrade, as a party of huntsmen, some mounted, some on foot, broke through the glade at the very spot where we stood.

It was not the bishop's men; but to my horror I recognised in the leading horseman, his worship the Mayor.

At sight of me in my cap and gown, and of my comrade with his bow and the dead fox, and of the horse tethered to the tree—(the bishop's horse had strayed, I know not whither)—the hunters raised a loud cry, and closed upon us.

"Seize the varlets," cried the mayor, "they are caught at last. By my life, a scholar, too. If he smart not for this, and something else, call me a dullard."

I saw by that he did not recognise me, although he cherished a lively memory of that morning's adventure.

My comrade, somewhat to my surprise, submitted quietly to superior numbers, and I was fain to do the like. It were better to be punished for poaching, than to be arraigned before the High Court of Star Chamber for publishing seditious libels.

"Bring them away, bring them away," cried the mayor, who was in no amiable mood. "I warrant they shall learn one lesson well, for once in their lives. Scholars indeed! a parcel of lewd, blood-thirsty, poaching scoundrels, with no more conscience than a London apprentice. Come, away with them to the city."

At this a gay young stripling rode up.

"Father," he said, "is our day's sport to be spoiled for a brace of rogues like these? Surely they will keep an hour or two, while we have our chase. Let some one guard them in the ranger's house, and we can take them up with us as we return at evening."

His young companions seconded his request. So the Mayor, who would have enjoyed more to clap us in the pillory than to win half the antlers in Shotover woods, consented, and bade three of his men conduct us to the ranger's lodge hard by, and keep us there till the party returned.

I saw my comrade's eye light up at this, but he said nothing; and looking very crestfallen and abashed we followed our guard, with hands tied, and heard the huntsmen's horns tantivy merrily away for their day's sport.

The ranger's lodge was a hut of but a single room, into which our keepers thrust us with little ceremony, and made to the door. They were stout men, all of them, and carried cross bows, besides the daggers at their girdles. We heard them grumble angrily to be baulked of their day's sport by a couple of college boys like us, and to be shut up here all day long with neither drink nor food nor anything with which to make good cheer.

Whereat one of the party pulled out a box of dice, and for lack of better sport they began to play.

Meanwhile, I watched my comrade, who, on entering, had thrown himself on the floor, and composed himself as if to sleep. But though he lay with his head on his hands, it was plain to see he was not dreaming; for the muscles of his face were working, and his body once or twice seemed exercised as with some effort. What this was, I guessed soon enough. He was gnawing the cord which bound his wrists; whereupon I set-to do the same, and, in a quarter of an hour I was free. Already my comrade had signalled to me that he was rid of his bonds, but warned me to give no sign, but wait the signal from him. So we both lay still, and I, the better to keep up the part, snored long and loud.

Our keepers, meanwhile, gave us no heed, but played deep and eagerly. We could hear by the growls and oaths that kept company with the rattle of the dice, that the luck was not going even. One of the three won the throw, time after time, and crowed so loud at each success, that the others (as was only natural), turned first surly, then angry. But the winner heeded not their wrath, but continued to cackle insultingly, until their patience being all spent, they knocked over the table, and fell to blows. Now, surely, thought I, is the time for us. But my comrade still lay low, and signed to me to do the same. For we were unarmed, and had we been too soon, all had been spoiled.

The fight that followed was short and sharp. The single man held his own for a few minutes, but fell at last, borne down by superior numbers and a stab in the thigh from one of his assailants. Then, when in dismay, the two dropped their daggers and knelt to see if he were dead or alive, my comrade gave the signal, and we sprang at one bound to our feet. In a moment the two men were in our grip, and at our mercy, and so taken aback were they by our sudden attack, that they cried quarter, even without a struggle, and let themselves be bound with the cords of which we just now rid.

As for the third, he was wounded, though not badly, and we left him unfettered. Then arming ourselves with a cross bow apiece (the spoils of war), and our own blades, we locked the door on our keepers, and bade them farewell. One thing troubled me in our escape, which was this, that my nag (or rather, Master Udal's), and my cloak were both gone a- hunting with the mayor. However, we could not both have ridden the one, or worn the other, and we might perchance run less risk without them than with them. As for the college cap and gown, my comrade nailed them with our keeper's two daggers on the outside of the door when we left, in token that here he bade farewell for ever to the life of a scholar.

It was scarcely three o'clock in the afternoon when we made good our escape. Before sundown, thanks to my comrade's knowledge of the country (which was all the more wonderful that he had been only two months at Oxford), we had fetched a wide circuit round the north of the city, and were safe on the Berkshire side of the river beyond Wightham, on the road to Abingdon.

For four hours my comrade had paced at my side without a word, and I, finding nothing to say, had been silent too. When, however, all danger from our pursuers was past, and night invited us to halt at the first convenient shelter, he stopped in the road and broke silence.

"Friend," said he, "what is your name?"

"Humphrey Dexter, at your service," said I. "May I ask yours?"

"You may call me Sir Ludar," said he, gravely. "And since we two have been comrades in peril, give me your hand, and let heaven witness that we are friends from this day."

I gripped his hand in silence, for I knew not what to say. My heart went out to this wild, odd comrade of mine, of whom I knew nothing; and had he bidden me follow him to the world's end, I should yet have thought twice before I refused him.

That night, as we lay in a wayside barn (for my purse was run too low to afford us an inn), Sir Ludar told me something of his history: and what he omitted to tell, I was able to guess. He was the youngest son, he said, of an Irish rebel chieftain, Sorley Boy McDonnell by name; who, desiring at one time to cement a truce with the English, had given his child in charge of a Sir William Carleton, an English soldier to whom he owed a service, to be brought up by him in his household, and educated as an English scholar and gentleman. The boy had never seen his father since; for though his guardian began by treating him well, yet when McDonnell turned against the English, as he had done, Sir William's manner changed. He kept hold of the boy, not so much as a ward but as a hostage, and ruled him with an iron rod. The lad had been handed over from governor to governor, from school to school, but they could do nothing with him. Some of his masters he had defied, others he had scorned, one he had nearly slain. His guardian had flogged him times without number, and threatened him still oftener. His guardian's lady had tried to tame him with gentleness and coaxing. He had been admonished by clergy, and arraigned before magistrates. But all to no purpose. He snapped his fingers at them all, and went his own way, consorting with desperate men, breaking laws and heads, flinging his books to the four winds, making raids on her Majesty's deer, flouting the clergy, denying the Queen, and daring all the Sir William Charletons on this earth to make an English gentleman of him. At last his guardian (who really, I think, meant well by the lad, rebel as he was), sent him to Oxford, to the care of Master Penry, the Welshman, who, by all signs, must have had a merry two months of it. At least, I could understand now why he had been more anxious to get back my cloak than his truant pupil. Nor could I blame him if he sighed with relief when Ludar, having fallen foul of every one and everything at Oxford, and learned nothing save a smattering of Spanish from a Jesuit priest, took up his cap and gown and shook the dust of the University from his feet.

"And so," said my comrade, who, as I say, left me to guess the half of what I have written down, "I am rid of them all; and, thank the saints, I am no gentleman yet."

Whereupon he dropped asleep.



CHAPTER SIX.

HOW I WALKED WITH A REBEL.

"Where do we go next?" asked I in the morning as we shook ourselves free of the hay which had been our bed, and sallied out into the air.

He looked at me with a smile, as though the question were a jest.

"To my guardian's," said he.

"Why!" said I, "he will flog you for running away from Oxford."

"What of that?" said Sir Ludar. "He is my governor."

It seemed odd to me for a man to put himself thus in the lion's maw, but I durst not question my new chief.

"You shall come too, and see him," said he. "It passes me to guess what he will do with me next, unless he make a lawyer or a priest of me."

"I must back to my master in London," said I.

"The printer!" said he, scornfully. "He is thy master no more; thou hast entered my service."

This staggered me. For much as I loved him, it had never occurred to me to bind myself to a penniless runaway.

"Pardon me, sir," said I. "I am bound to the printer by an oath. Besides, I know not yet what your service is."

"My service," said he, "is to be free, and to put wrong right."

"'Tis a noble service," said I, "but it fills no stomachs."

"You 'prentices are all stomach," said he, sadly. "But 'tis always so. No man that ever I met believed in me yet. I must fight my battles alone."

This cut me to the quick.

"Not so," said I. "Last night I swore to be your friend. It was a mad oath, I know; but you shall see if I do not observe it. But till two years are past, I am bound by an oath to my master the printer, and him I must serve. Then, I am with you."

This I thought softened him.

"Well," said he, "who knows where we may be two years hence?"

"God knows, and we are in his hands."

"So be it," said Sir Ludar, crossing himself, to my grief. "Meanwhile, Humphrey, we are friends. I may claim your heart if not your hand?"

"You may—or," here I blushed, "a share of it."

"What mean you by that?" asked he, sharply. "What man holds the rest?"

"No man," said I.

He laughed pleasantly at that.

"A woman? I have heard of that distemper before. It comes and goes, I'm told. Had it been a man, I should have been jealous."

There was little sympathy in that for my sore heart, so I said no more.

"Come," said he presently, "you shall come to my guardian's. He lives at Richmond, and it is on our way to London. If he turn me off, you shall take me to London, and make a printer of me, if you please."

I agreed to this, and we stepped out on our journey.

A strange journey it was. My comrade, for the most part, stalked silently half a pace in front of me, sometimes, it seemed to me, heedless of my presence, and sometimes as if troubled by it. Yet often enough he brightened up, and began carolling some wild song; or else darted off the road after a hare or other game which he rarely failed to bring down with his arrow; or else rallied me for my silence, and bade me talk to him.

At these times I asked him about his own country, and his father, and then his face lit up. For though he had not seen either since he was a child, it was clear he longed to be back.

"What prevents your returning now?" said I.

He looked at me in his strange wondering way.

"Know you not that McDonnell is an exile, and that the hated Sassenach holds his castle?" demanded he.

I confessed I did not; for a London 'prentice hears little of the news outside. Besides, though I durst not tell him as much, I did not know who McDonnell, his father, might be; or what he meant by Sassenach.

"But he will feast in Dunluce once more," cried he, "and I shall be there too. And the usurper woman Elizabeth shall—"

Here I sprang at him, and felled him to the ground!

The blood left my heart as I saw what I had done. As he lay there, I could hardly believe it was I who had done it; for I loved him as my own brother, and never more so than when he leapt to his feet, and with white lips and heaving chest stood and faced me.

I was so sure he would fly at me, that I did not even wait for him to begin, but flung myself blindly on him. But he only caught me by the arm and shoulder, and flung me off with such strength that I reeled and staggered for a dozen yards before I finally fell headlong with my face in the dust.

Then he turned on his heel and walked on slowly.

It was no light thing, after that, to pick myself up and, spitting the dust from my mouth, go after him. But I did. He never turned as I came up behind, or heeded me till I stood before him and said:

"Sir Ludar, I smote you just now for speaking ill of my Queen. A man who is disloyal to her is no friend of mine; therefore farewell."

He glanced me over, and his face had lost all its anger.

"She is no Queen of mine," said he. "I was born her enemy. For all that, you did well to strike when I spoke ill of her. I would do as much to you were you to speak evil of my Queen." And here he raised his cap.

"Your Queen?" said I. "And who may she be? There is but one Queen in these realms."

"I know it," said he. "Her I serve."

"Do you mean," said I, "that you serve—"

"Hush!" said he, with his hand at his belt. "I serve Queen Mary, and all the saints in Heaven preserve her! Now, Humphrey Dexter, is it peace or war?"

"I pray every day for the confusion of her Majesty's enemies."

"Why not?" said he, "so you pray not aloud. I do the same."

"Not so," said I, "or I should not have struck you. Nor shall it be peace if you dare to breathe her Majesty's name again in my hearing."

"Heaven is my witness I have no wish to breathe it," said he, with a curl of his lips. "Nor, if you breathe the name of mine, need you look for so gentle a tumble as I dealt you just now. Come, your hand on it."

So we struck hands for the third time and went on.

My conscience troubled me sore the rest of that day. What had I come to, to assort thus with a declared enemy of our gracious Queen, and, more than that, to love him more every mile we walked? I could not help it, as I said before. He was so unlike a common rebel, and so big in his heart to every one and everything that claimed his aid.

Once that day, as we toiled along the hot road, we overtook a poor woman carrying a bundle in one arm, while with the other she strove to help along a little, footsore child, who whimpered and stumbled at every step. Without a word, Sir Ludar took the child and bundle both from the scared mother, who gave herself up for lost, until he asked her gently whither she went, and might he help her so far with her burdens? Then she wept, and led us a clean four miles off our road to her cottage, where Sir Ludar put down the bundle and the now sleeping urchin and bade her adieu before she could thank him.

Another time, as we were mounting a hill, we came up with a hay-cart which the patient horse could scarcely drag. Whereupon he set-to to push the cart behind, calling on me and the bewildered carter to do the same, till we had fairly hoisted it to the crown of the hill.

Another time he fell foul of a parcel of gipsies who were ill-using an old man of their tribe, and a lively fight we had of it, we two against six of them, amongst whom was the old man himself. When at last we had got rid of them I hoped that our adventures for the day were done, for I was tired and wanted to rest my bones in a bed.

But as we passed through Reading the righteous soul of my comrade was vexed by the sight of a boy sitting howling in the stocks.

"No doubt he deserves punishment," said I.

"Deserve or not, he has had enough, for me," said Ludar, and began kicking away at the boards.

Of course there was a commotion at that, and the constable came to see what the noise was about. Ludar desired nothing better, for he made the fellow disgorge his key, which saved a vast power of kicking. Then, when the boy was free and had darted off to the woods. Sir Ludar, with a grim smile, locked up the beadle in his place, and flung the key into the pond. Then as the watch and a posse of the townsfolk turned out to see what the uproar was, we ran for it and got clear.

This last proceeding did not please me. For it was defying the Queen's law, and as I said to my comrade, it was not for us to set ourselves up against authority.

But Sir Ludar would listen to no reason.

"The lad was miserable where he was," said he.

"So is the beadle now," said I.

"The better the lesson for him," said Ludar.

There was no use arguing, so we trudged on some miles further till night fell, and we took shelter again in a barn.

The next day, guiding ourselves chiefly by the river, we came to Windsor, where I had much ado to hinder my comrade from going a-hunting in her Majesty's forest. Had it not been that I persuaded him we might almost reach Richmond that night, I think, for mere spite of the law, he would have stayed.

As it fell out, we were far from reaching Richmond that night. For the way was difficult with swamps and thickets, so that we were glad enough to reach Chertsey by sundown. I was for spending what little remained of my money at the inn, but this he would not hear of; so we took our supper, and then, as the night was fine, slept in a field of hay. Sweet lying it was too, and when early next day we plunged into the clear river and refreshed out travel-stained limbs, we felt men again.

It was well on in the afternoon when we arrived at Richmond. We should have been there sooner, but that my comrade was for ever calling a halt or turning aside on some errand of chivalry. Mad enough I thought some of them, but then he never asked me what I thought; and if ever I hung back, he did what he needed without me. Yet whatever he did, it was to help some one weaker than himself, and if my patience now and then failed me, the honour I had for him grew, as I said, with every mile we went.

I say it was afternoon when we reached Richmond. As we approached the place my comrade's desire to see his guardian waxed cool, and he cast about him for an excuse, if not to avoid going to the house, at least to put it off till night. I proposed that we should rest ourselves under the trees in the park, to which he agreed. But it was an unlucky move. For we had not lain half an hour, enjoying the shade, and I half asleep, when he started up with a "hist," and slipped an arrow into his bow.

At that moment a fine buck went by. He had not spied us while we lay still, but the moment my comrade moved, he threw up his head and bounded off. Yet not before a quick twang from Sir Ludar's bowstring had sent an arrow into his quarter. "Are you mad?" cried I, in terror, "it is the Queen's deer!"

"Follow! follow!" shouted Sir Ludar, who was every inch a sportsman.

I tried to hold him back, but he heeded me no more than had I been a fly. With a loud whoop, he dashed away in pursuit. He had not gone twenty yards from me, when there was a great shout and clatter of horsemen, and before I well knew what had happened, I saw Sir Ludar disarmed in the clutches of half a dozen men. I rushed to his help, but could do nothing except share his fate. For they were too many for us, and we had no time even to hit out.

"Where is the captain?" cried one of the men.

Just then up rode a man at sight of whom the blood tingled in all my veins. I mean Captain Merriman.

I do not know if he recognised me at first, for he scarcely gave us a look.

"Away with them to your master," said he, riding on, "and see they give you not the slip."

So we were marched off, a pretty end to our jaunt. And to make our plight worse, Sir Ludar whispered to me as we went along, "Unless I mistake, the master of these men is my guardian, Sir William Carleton."

Sure enough it was.

The house we were conducted to stood in a large park with a view far over the river, perhaps the fairest view in England. Yet I had no mind just then to admire it; for the presence of that hated horseman made me forget all except one fair face, which I seemed to see as I had seen it that day at Finsbury Fields. He rode forward as we entered the park and bade the men bring us safely in.

"Come, step out," said one of the men, giving me a flick with his riding-whip, "we have been waiting for you these three weeks, my gentlemen; and I promise you a warm welcome from his worship. The captain, his visitor, will be in high favour, now that he has run the vermin to earth—what say you, Hugh?"

"I warrant you that," said Hugh. "For our master had set his heart on catching the vagabonds, and nothing could please him better."

"Heigho! It is we have had all the watching these weeks past; but this gay spark will have all the glory now. Well, so the world goes. I shall be glad to see him started on his Irish wars, for I like him not."

"Nor I—and yet we are not like to see the last of him soon, if the rumour which my lady's maid hath whispered me, that some fair company is expected shortly at the hall, be true."

The other laughed.

"No, truly, he is no proof against the flutter of a skirt, as some here know. Did I tell you what befel him not long since in London town, at the place where the 'prentice boys' sport? I had it from one of his own men. But here we are at his worship's. You shall hear the story another time, and I warrant you will crack your sides over it."

Sir William, being an old man and gouty to boot, saw his prisoners in his own room, whither we were accordingly conducted. I had no chance to get a word with my comrade, who, I noticed, kept his hand to his mouth, and pulled his cap over his eyes—I suppose, to conceal himself from those about the place who might know him. As for me, I had no desire to hide myself from the only man there who knew me.

Sir William was a fine, red-faced, white-headed old gentleman, with something of the old soldier in his air, and (when he came to speak), a good deal of him in his words. He sat in a great chair, with one foot swaddled on a stool before him; and the oaths with which he greeted each twinge as it came, boded ill for us his prisoners.

He kept us waiting a long time at the dimly lit end of the hall, while he spoke to his guest. At last he ordered us to be led forward. As we advanced, and their eyes fell on us, each uttered an exclamation. I kept my eye on Captain Merriman, and watched the storm that gathered on his brow, and the crimson flush that sprung to his cheeks. It was plain he knew me again, and I was content.

As for Sir Ludar, he stared listlessly at his guardian till it should please his worship to speak.

His worship began with a string of oaths.

"Why, what means this, sirrah! How came you here, you vagabond Irish whelp, in this company? Speak, or by my beard, I'll—I'll—"

He did not say what he would do, for his foot gave him a twinge which demanded of him every word he could spare.

"I have left Oxford, Sir Guardian," said Ludar, "I liked not the place, or the ways of the place, or the Welshman, my keeper; and as for my present company," said he, turning to me, "'tis good enough for me. It was I shot the deer, not he; and so pray bid these fellows loose him."

At this the angry old soldier nearly went off in a fit. He flourished his stick towards the offender, and even tried to rise from his chair, a proceeding which brought on fresh pangs, and set him swearing hard for a minute or more.

"How now! what, a murrain on you, puppy! Am I to be told my duty by a raw-boned, ill-conditioned Irish gallowglass that I have fed at my table and spent half my life in making a gentleman of? What do you think of that, Sir Captain? How would you like to be saddled with a young wolf- hound cub like that—Sorley Boy's son he is, no other, on my life—that I was fool enough to take wardship of when he was a puling puppy and his father an honest man? What do you think of that? Curse the whole tribe of them, say I."

"By your leave, Sir William," said the captain in a smooth soft voice, that made every hair on my body bristle, "good deeds have always their reward; but as for the deer that was shot, your ward is generous enough to shield the real offender at his own cost. I should be sorry indeed had it been otherwise."

I could see the veins in my comrade's neck swell while this talk went on. But he remained silent, while Sir William said:

"By my soul, it wants but to look at the varlet to see poacher written in his face! And the Queen's deer too! Come, you men, which of you was it caught the rogue?"

Here one of the men, seeing how the wind lay, swore before heaven that he saw me shoot the deer, and took me red-handed, with my bow in my hand. And when one sheep leads the way, the others follow. They all swore it was I; while some added that my comrade lay asleep under a tree, and knew nothing of the matter till I was captured.

Then Sir William grunted, and turned to his ward.

"'Tis well for you, sir puppy, these honest fellows give you the lie. Had they done otherwise, I could have believed them; and I promise you, ward and all as you are, I would have hanged thee for slaying the Queen's deer, as surely as I will hang this cunning rogue here. Let the boy go, men; and now you," said he, turning to me, "you ill-looking hang-dog, you, say your prayers, for to-morrow you ride to the Assizes, and then the Lord have mercy on thy black soul!"

It surprised me that Sir Ludar took his release quietly, and now stood by with thunderous face, but apparently heedless of my sentence.

"Take him away there," said his worship, "and make him fast in the cellar. These dogs are slippery vermin, so take care. When the rope is round his neck he may wriggle to his heart's content. Come, be off with him."

I looked at Ludar, but his back was turned. I looked at Captain Merriman, and he was smiling to himself. I looked at his worship, and he was swearing at his foot. So as all seemed against me, I turned sadly enough and followed my guard to the dungeon. I cared little enough what came to me. Ever since I set foot out of London things had gone against me. I was steeped breast-high in disloyalty and lawlessness; I had staked my peace of mind on a rebel, and now it seemed even he had done with me. Yet I could not believe that. Had I done so, I think I should have beaten out my brains upon the wall of that damp cellar. As it was, I sat there, too bewildered to think. And so, for lack of anything else to do, I fell asleep.

I know not how long I had slept, when I was aroused by a hand on my arm. As I might have known, it was Ludar. He had a dish of venison pasty and a flagon of wine in his hands, which he set before me, and in dumb show bade me eat. I obeyed heartily, for I had not tasted food since the morning. Then he took me by the hand, and led me in the darkness up the steps and into the open air. Once clear of the house he broke silence.

"Farewell," said he, "I may stay here. My guardian threatens to send me back to Oxford in charge of a troop, but I think I shall stay here a while."

"But," said I, "will you not get yourself into trouble over this?"

"Over what? your release?" said he, laughing, "I think not. The old gentleman will rave somewhat at first, but when it comes to hanging me or nobody, he will hold his peace. He cannot afford to see a ward of his swing with his feet off the ground. Moreover, as soon as I can hear news from the north, I shall go to find my father. So, farewell, Humphrey. Expect me in London ere long, and forget not our oath."

I gave him my hand in answer, and with a heavy heart started on my way.

I had not gone many paces when he came after me.

"Who and what sort of man is this Captain?" said he.

"He is the Devil," said I. And I told him what had passed between us. He laughed loud when I spoke of the duck-pond—so loud that I feared we should be heard.

"Oh," said he, when the tale was done, "that settles it."

"Settles what?" I asked.

"I mean," said he, "that I think I shall slay him."

And with that we parted, he back to the house, I, dismally enough, to London.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

HOW I FOUND TROUBLE ON MY RETURN.

It surprised me to find how desolate I felt as I set out alone on the last stage of my journey. For when I started from London not two weeks ago I was blithe enough, and well content with my own company. But since Ludar came across my path, I was conscious that there was some man better and nobler in the world than Humphrey Dexter; and to be left now to my own sweet society seemed a poor exchange for the companionship I had had the last few days.

My first thought was to find my way to Master Udal's at Kingston, so as to be near my friend and my enemy both at Richmond. But when I remembered I had lost the minister's horse and failed to carry out his errand, it seemed to me wiser not to go near him at present, but push on to my master's house and make a clean breast of all to him.

The dawn was breaking as I got clear of the park and found the road to Brentford Ferry. I cared not much if Sir William's men came after me, nor was the prospect before me at my journey's end enough to urge me forward with much eagerness. So I dawdled the morning away on the river's bank, bathing and lying disconsolately in the shade, so that it was well-nigh mid-day before I reached the ferry.

Here the strangest adventure befel me. For as I sat watching the boat come over towards me, I perceived that it contained three persons, of whom one was a serving man, and two were women. What was it which made me tremble and catch my breath as my eyes lit on the upright, fearless figure of the maiden who sat in the stern? I knew her a hundred yards off. I stood irresolute, not knowing whether to fly or wait. If I waited and she knew me not, 'twould be more than I could bear. Yet, if I fled, I were a paltroon and a boor.

I waited, and the minutes seemed hours while the boat came over. There were four horses also in the boat, one laden with baggage, as for a journey. Were they then leaving London for some distant home where I should never see her more? Yet if so, why came they this way?

As they came to shore, I summoned up courage to advance. She knew me in a moment, despite my travel-stained garb and unkempt look; and held out her hand with a smile of mingled surprise and welcome.

"My kind protector," she said. "To think of meeting you in a place like this."

"I am returning from a long journey," said I.

"And we are starting on a longer," said she.

"And a pretty prey we be," said the old nurse, "to all the bandits, and man slayers, and women eaters with which you English line your high roads. In Ireland, my pretty lady might walk alone from Bengore to the Head of Kinsale, and not a body would hurt her; but here, we durst not turn a corner, for fear of one of ye."

"Nay, Judy, talk not to our friend here as if he were one of them we fear. Besides," added she, seeing, I suppose, the trouble in my face, "we are like to have a brave enough escort, if what Sir William promises come true."

Sir William! A great terror came over me when I heard that name.

"Are you then going to Sir William Carleton's?" said I.

"Yes, and how came you to know it?" said the maiden.

"Madam," said I, "pardon my boldness. Do you know who is there?"

I thought she looked offended at this, for she said, gravely:

"Sir William is my mother's kinsman. Is his house far from here?"

"Not far. I pray you let me take you so far."

"By no means," said she, "our ways lie in different directions. I have a conductor, as you see. Will you inform him as to the way?"

I obeyed, and, further, bade the fellow look well to his mistress, and keep his eye on a certain captain, who might be at the place to which they went.

Then, as I assisted the maiden to mount her horse, I summoned up courage, cost what it would, to say:

"Sir William hath a guest whom you and I saw last at Finsbury Fields. I beseech you, maiden, let me go thither as your servant."

She bridled up proudly, yet, not unkindly.

"No," said she, "if I needed a protector, I could have none better than you. But I need none. Farewell, and thanks, good Master Dexter. The O'Neill's daughter will not forget that one Englishman at least never did her harm. Adieu."

And without waiting for more, she rode forward, followed by her attendants.

Then it seemed as if the sun had gone out of heaven. What was I, a mean London 'prentice, to such as she? Nay, what right had I to suppose she needed either my warning or my protection?

One thing only comforted me. Sir Ludar was still at his guardian's house, and with him there, no harm could well befall any distressed maiden. In my vanity I even wished he could know that in serving her he would be serving me, his friend. Yet, I fancied, if it came to the point, he might as soon wring the captain's neck for the maiden's sake, as for mine.

The one thing this meeting had gained for me, was that it assured me, however little she cared for me, she yet remembered me; and, further, now I knew her name, and that to one in my plight was no small prize.

"If your worship be not pressed for time," said a voice, "I am; so good- day to you."

I looked round, and there was my old acquaintance the ferryman, making ready to put off.

This roused me, and I jumped into the boat.

This time the ill-looking Charon made no venture for my purse. Little enough he would have found in it, had he got it. He demanded his fare as if he had never before seen me; nor was it till I demanded if his rascally mate, whom I pitched into the river, had ever reached the shore, that he condescended to recall what happened ten days before.

But I was in no humour to heed his bluster; and I let him swear on. Had he been civil I should have had to pay him; as it was, he spared me that, and was lucky that I did not crack his skull with his own oar, into the bargain. I spent the twopence on bread and meat at his inn, and he durst not refuse it; then, with light purse and heavy heart, I set out to reach London that night. It mattered little to me that the way was beset with robbers and bullies. I had neither horse nor cloak; my homely apparel was rent and dirty; my boots were in holes, and my belt was empty. I was not worth robbing, and the few who set on me in mistake, did not stay long when they found the temper I was in. So late that night—it must have been towards midnight—I brought my journey to an end, and stood at my master's door.

Here a sore rebuff met me. For a long time I knocked and called in vain, and woke the echoes of the sleeping Strand. Then from an upper window a voice descended:

"Who goes there? Hold your peace, with a plague on you, or I'll call the watch."

"It is I, Humphrey Dexter. Is that you Master Walgrave?"

"Walgrave! Master Walgrave! you will find him where he has a right to be, in the White Lion; and if you be the apprentice that he spoke of, harkee, the less you are seen about here the better for you; for they say you are as great a knave as your master."

"The White Lion! My master in gaol!" cried I, amazed. "How comes that? Is it true or a lie? By whose order?"

"Make less noise at this hour," said the voice, "and if you doubt me, go and ask. But take my warning and be not seen too near here. Your indentures are ended for long enough. Go and seek a new master and a better; and leave me to sleep in peace."

With that, the window closed, and there was no more to be said.

I could scarcely believe the news the man told me. And yet, when I remembered my master's disorderly ways, and the secret press in the cellar, it was easier understood. Yet it must be for some other business than that which took me to Oxford. For the Bishop's man I had met certainly never had Mr Walgrave's name from me, nor had a single copy of that scandalous libel, "A Whip for the Bishops," escaped from the hollow tree in Shotover wood.

If Master Walgrave were in durance vile, where was my mistress and her family? It was vain, I knew, to attempt to learn more from the sleepy caretaker, at least till morning; nor was there anyone else, that I knew of, from whom I could get satisfaction. So I had e'en to tramp the streets like a watchman till daybreak; and weary enough I was at the end of it.

Then I remembered that Mistress Walgrave had a constant gossip in Mistress Straw, the horologer's wife, three doors off. Perhaps Mistress Straw could give me news. So I waited till the 'prentices (the same two who had shamefully eaten hasty pudding that day the Queen came into London), came to open the door and set out their ware. With them, to my surprise, I saw Peter Stoupe, my fellow 'prentice. He looked sheepish when I hailed him.

"What, Humphrey," said he, in his doleful drawl, "thou hast returned at last. In what misfortune dost thou find us! Our good master in prison, you and I homeless, my dear mistress and her poor babes—"

"Ay, what of them?" demanded I, in no humour to hear him out.

"My dear mistress and her poor babes," continued he, heedless of my tone, "dependent on the goodness of others. Oh! Humphrey, hadst thou stayed at thy post, instead of—"

"A pox on your canting tongue!" cried I. "Tell me where my mistress is, or, by my soul, I'll shake every tooth out of your head."

And I put my hand, not lightly, on his shoulder.

This brought him to reason; it generally did. Peter Stoupe could never remember how to talk till he was reminded.

"She is here, in this house; and I am here to take care of her, by my master's orders," said he, "and there is no room for thee too."

"And Master Walgrave, when was he arrested, and why?" I asked.

"Only yesterday—pray, unhand me, good Humphrey, thy hand is irksome—a pursuivant of his Grace's, with Timothy Ryder from Stationers' Hall, and a handful of the Company at their backs, made a sudden visitation, and searched us up and down, till they lit on—you know what."

"The secret press," cried I, like a fool, letting him see that I knew of it.

"Alack! Humphrey," said he, "there is nothing secret that shall not be made manifest. Without more ado, my poor master was seized and hauled away to the White Lion. 'Woe is me,' said he, as he departed, 'an enemy hath done this, Peter—a viper whom I have nourished at my hearth. Look to my poor wife and little ones, my faithful friend'—these were his words—'and Heaven will reward thy faithful service.' It seemed to me, Humphrey, that when he spoke of the viper, he meant thee. Pray Heaven I may be wrong." Fancy if I felt merry at this speech! But that I knew by the blink of his eyes the rogue was lying, I could have saved the gallows a job. As it was, I flung him aside and went into the house.

No one but the 'prentices were stirring; so I sat in the shop and waited. It cost me a pang to see the gourmands devour their breakfast, with never a bite for myself; yet, since Peter Stoupe was of the company, it would have cost me a greater pang to eat, had any been offered me—which it was not. For a round hour I sat there, like a hungry bear, neither speaking nor spoken to, when at last there came the sound of a halting footstep on the stairs.

It was my sweet little mistress, and at sight of me she broke forth into crying and laughing.

"Oh, he has come! Maman! voici notre bon Humphrey. Why did you stay so long? Why were you not there to save our pauvre pere? Oh, I am glad to have you back. We shall be happy again."

And she put up her face to be kissed, which I did with beating heart; for she had never looked to me so sweet, nor had her voice sounded so like music to my ears.

"They said you had deserted us," said she, "but I knew it was a bad lie. Peter, mechant, what think you now, he has come back, our Humphrey? Go and tell maman, and Prosper and the little ones."

You would have been sorry for Peter at that! His face was glum enough when I kissed my little mistress; but it looked fairly ugly when she sent him on this errand. What cared I? There were some yet who thought not ill of Humphrey Dexter.

Mistress Walgrave, my dear mistress, received me sadly yet kindly. Whether she had believed the false tales of my fellow 'prentice or not, I know not. But she had nothing but welcome for me when she heard my story. And when it was done she told me how she wished I had been home when all the trouble happened.

"'Tis as well this journey of yours failed," said she. "It might have brought us even greater peril. Your master is too busy a man; one press was not enough for him, nor one libel. What they took was I know not what, some lamentable complaint, far less harmful than that we sewed in your cloak. How they knew of it, we know not."

"And what is to be done now?" I asked.

"We cannot stay here," said she, "Mistress Straw, kind as she is, hath not the room nor the means to keep us. Besides, my husband bade me, when this happened, seek shelter from Master Udal, the minister, at Kingston. To him we must go, anon. As for you and poor Peter—who means well, I think—I grieve for you. For I can give you neither work nor board."

"Nay," said I, "you are not done with me, mistress. I will at least see you and the little ones safe to Kingston. But first I would see my master, if I may."

"You may try," said she, brightening up, "but before that, you must have food, for you look weary and half-starved. Come, Jeannette, make ready something for breakfast, and do you, Peter, help us."

After much ado, I was admitted to see Master Walgrave, in the White Lion. He was in a sour mood and well disposed to look on me as the author of his troubles. When I showed him how that could not be, he softened a little.

"I make no complaint for myself," said he. "'Tis a good cause on which I am embarked, and I shall see it through yet. As for my wife and little ones, let your last service to me be to see them safe to Master Udal's. Had it been possible, I would have had them safe at Rochelle, where even their Graces have no jurisdiction. But for the present I have a claim on the minister for this shelter. Peter Stoupe I mistrust, the more so that he bade me mistrust you. When I am released, you may still claim me as master, though I can no longer claim you as apprentice."

I assured him I wanted no better master, and hoped I might yet serve him. Meanwhile, I promised, that same day, to conduct his family to Kingston.

I had some trouble to persuade Peter Stoupe that his service was neither expected nor desired. Nay, he claimed so stoutly his master's authority to be the guardian of the family, that I had to shake his obstinacy out of him a bit before he would be still. My mistress and the pretty Jeannette were, I think, glad to be rid of him; and after many thanks to Mistress Straw, we embarked on a fair tide, by which. Prosper and I plying the oars diligently, we reached Mortlach; whence in a cart we drove as night fell to Kingston. Little enough baggage we had, for the Company's men had forbidden aught to be removed from the house till such time as a further search should be made. So all had to be left until then.

You may fancy Master Udal's amazement, when we landed at his door. He had gone to bed, and had our cart come to take him off to Tyburn, he could scarcely have shown himself more alarmed. However, he was a good man, and owed much to Master Walgrave. So, after praying for strength, he took us all in and bade us lie as we could till morning, when he would make better provision. His own chamber he gave to my mistress and her little ones, while Prosper and he and I lay on the hard floor of the kitchen. Many were the religious exercises in which he led us before he let us sleep; and even when they were done, he fell on me, and drew from me a full and penitent account of my journey to Oxford and my follies there, for the which he called me many hard names, and bade me take shame to myself, and pray God I might not one day become a knave as well as a fool. Which prayer I humbly uttered then and there, and many a time since.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

HOW I WAS CAST ADRIFT.

Master Udal, the minister, was not a man to bandy compliments. He told me, as we rose next morning, that he had neither the means nor the desire to keep me at Kingston. There was nothing to make my stay of any service to him; nor did the thickness of my skull encourage him to keep me there for my soul's sake.

"In short," said he, "what is to prevent you from going at once? You can find breakfast for yourself on the road as soon as I could find it for you here, and it beseems a body of your size,"—heavens! what a name to call me—"better to be serving your calling in London than dangling here at the skirts of a parcel of women. So away with you, Humphrey Dexter, and if you should visit us a week hence, come at an hour when you can return by the road you came the self-same evening."

I should have been angry, but that I knew I had lost him his nag at Oxford, and that the good man (how, I could not guess), was going to board and lodge my poor mistress and her little ones while their distress lasted. I had nothing for it but to obey him meekly. Only I was glad he hinted that I might presently come back to see them.

And now, what was to become of me? My master was in the White Lion, my mistress was at Kingston, the house without Temple Bar was in the custody of Timothy Ryder; there was warrant against me for assaulting a Queen's officer; if I went to Richmond there was a dungeon for me there; if I went home my mother could ill afford to keep me; if I went to the Stationers' Company I was too old now to apprentice to anybody. I was in a bad plight, and what was worst of all, it seemed as if no one cared much what I did or what became of me.

"At any rate," said I to myself as I jogged Londonwards, "I can go to the wars and fight for my Queen—Heaven bless her!"

It was a sore temptation as I passed near Richmond to climb the hill and see what was going forward at the Hall. That house harboured the two people I held dearest in the world, and the one I hated most. Yet I was afraid to go, not because of Captain Merriman or the cellar, but lest I should not read a welcome on Ludar's brow, or should be scorned by that fair lady. No; I must wait till Ludar came to me in London. Meanwhile, forward thither.

I took the boat we had left last night at Mortlach, and went down on the tide. The hard labour of rowing did me good, and made me forget all but the biggest of my troubles. I resolved first to go to my master's house, and see more closely how the land lay there. To my surprise, as I entered, unexpected, I found great noise and revelry afoot; and there sat in my mistress' snug little parlour Timothy Ryder himself making merry with no other than my fellow-apprentice, Peter Stoupe. And if I mistook not, the good cheer on the table came out of Mistress Walgrave's own larder.

"Oh, he!" thought I. "You are a pretty pair. Now there is like to be a pretty three of us."

So I walked in, and just as Master Peter was lifting the tankard to his hypocritical face, I caught him a whack on the back which sent him off his chair, choking, and groaning aloud that the end of the world was come.

When they saw who it was, their jaws fell a bit, and Timothy Ryder began to bluster.

"Come, come," said he. "What do you here? Who bade you here, pray? Know you not this place is in the Company's keeping? Come, make off with you, rascal, or some of us will see you go keep your rogue of a master company."

"Hold your peace, beadle," said I, "or you shall swing on the beam over your head. Here, Peter, get up."

Peter rose, purple in face, and not very steady in the knees.

"Now," said I, "tell me, where got you that ale?"

"Indeed, Humphrey, I was invited to it. I never—"

"Where got you that beef and bread?"

"I—oh, dost thou think so ill of me as to suppose—"

"That when your master is in gaol, and your mistress and her little ones are homeless, you would come here and gorge your vile paunch with the food that belongs to them? yes, I suppose every word of it, Peter Stoupe."

"But," said he, "I have a right as a 'prentice—"

"'Prentice!" shouted I, "you a 'prentice! a mean, chicken-livered, gluttonous sneak like you, a 'prentice! 'fore heaven, you do the craft honour! Come, bustle away with you, and God save my master from such dirty thieves as you."

Here Timothy Ryder was foolish enough to laugh; which enraged me past all enduring.

So, beadle and all as he was, I took him by the nape of his neck like a puppy, and flung him into the Strand, bidding him, as he valued his bones, not come within arm's length of me or my master's house till I asked him. As for Peter, he made off without my help; and here I was with the house to myself.

Then I knew I was in a scrape beside which all the troubles of the past few weeks were as nothing. I had shamefully outraged the beadle of the Worshipful Company of Stationers, acting under the authority of his Grace the Bishop of London! Nothing I could say or do could undo that. Even if I fled now—which I was not in the humour of doing, since my blood was up—it was too late. For already a crowd was in the Strand, some led by curiosity and Peter's lamentations, others by Timothy's halloos; and before I knew where I stood, I was besieged.

I had barely time to bolt the door and heap up reams of paper across the passage, before such a battering began as you never heard. I ran upstairs and surveyed the enemy from a window. There were half the men of the Watch there—they wanted me for assaulting a beadle. There were Timothy and a body of Company's men—they wanted me for defying the authority of the Master and Wardens. There were my old friends the Court bullies—they wanted me for the trouble that had happened in Finsbury Fields. There were a crowd of idle town-boys—they wanted their fling against a 'prentice. Take it altogether, I seemed to be in request.

It was not much use hurling types at them from the window; there was nothing bigger than Brevier to give them, and that was too small to break any bones. Nor had I any other weapon. So I put out my head and shouted "Clubs! Clubs!" with all my voice, and then went down to be ready for the first man that should break in.

'Twas not long before the door came down; but then they had to pass the barrier I had put up in the passage. I had at a few of them across that, and sent them sprawling; but the enemy was too many for me. And the clubs outside, although they rose to my call, kept themselves to the town-boys and court bullies, and were hands-off to the Watch and the Company. At last one slippery rogue scrambled over the barrier and dodged past me. And while I was engaging him, three or four more did the same; till presently it seemed the game was up. I had to yield the outer passage and retreat to the printing room, where three of the besiegers got in with me before I could make to the door. There was no time to lose, for the door was a weak one, and in five minutes would be down. So I laid about me with the printer's balls, and stunned one of my men and upset another. Then I put the third down the trap-door, which stood open, just as the door began to totter inwards. It was time to go. No good could be got by staying, and whatever came of it, no one would be the better for my capture. So I darted out by the back way that I knew of, where nobody looked for me; and running down the garden, and over my Lord's ground to the river's edge, I took a wherry and made for the other bank.

I could see the crowd presently break through my master's house into the garden, and stand disappointed when they saw I had given them the slip. But I was beyond pursuit; and they trooped back angrily, I suppose to make fast the place against my further intrusion.

Much good I had done by my silly riot! My master's house was wrecked, where it need only have been robbed. My mistress' goods and chattels were no nearer being handed over than they were before; and, since some one must suffer for it all, and I had escaped, it was likely enough my master's lot would be all the worse for him by what had happened. I had no cause to be proud of myself; and to be just, I was not proud.

Now, I knew enough of Peter Stoupe to be sure he would guess I had fled to Kingston. So to disappoint him and the watch both, I turned my boat's head down stream, and resolved to lie hid a week in the city before I showed myself again there. By that time the hue and cry would have ceased, and, further, the time named by Master Udal for my visit would be come.

As luck would have it, I was hailed, as I rowed under London Bridge, by a man from a vessel which had just dropped anchor in the pool. She was a French craft, full of merchandise, part for London and part for Leith, in Scotland; and being under-manned, the captain, seeing me idle, offered me and a few others plying about three days' work in helping to unload. The offer suited me well; and if ever a free man worked like a galley slave, I did for that week. Yet the French fellow was kindly enough, and hearing I was a fugitive from the law, he suffered me to lie on his boat at nights, and even let me feed with his men. Finding, too, that I could talk a smattering of his tongue he tempted me sorely to take service northward with him, and become a sailor. I would have done it but for two things—I must see how my mistress and Jeannette and the little ones fared; and, further, I knew not when I might receive a summons from Ludar to fulfil my pledge to him. So I refused, to his regret, yet we parted friends; and, as you may hear later on, not for the last time.

At the week's end, I found myself once more knocking at Master's Udal door at Kingston. The place looked pleasanter already for the presence of my gentle mistress and her daughter. The little garden was trim and well kept, the windows were brighter, and the children's voices near made the air gladder. As for Master Udal himself, when he opened the door, I could have laughed to see the change in him. His hair was kempt, and the rents in his garments were mended; there was a peep of ruffle at his wrists, and his stockings, which had ever lagged down at his heels, now held up bravely by the buckle at his knee. More than that, he looked scared and jaded, like a man undergoing some penance, and doubtful what will be wanted of him next.

But when he saw me his face grew black, and without a word he flung-to the door in my face. I was so taken aback, that I was minded to laugh and suppose the good man to have lost his wits. But when I came to knock again, and no answer, then the jest went out of the business. What had happened? I walked round the house, hoping to meet someone, but not a soul could I see. Then I tried the door again, but with the same luck as before. At last, quite dazed by the mystery, I gave it up and wandered off anywhere. In the village I met an old man, carrying wood; him I accosted, and asked how the minister fared.

He cackled and laid down his faggots.

"Grammercy, the poor lad's head is turned, neighbour. The Frenchwoman who has come has looked over him. Why—he! he!—he's been to the barber's, and—he! he!—he preached an hour short on Sunday, and, forgive us! he hath gotten him a new shirt. She's a witch, I tell'ee; and mark me if the next bundle of sticks I carry up be not for her burning. Ha! ha!"

I told him he was a fool; but the idea was firm stuck in his head, and more I could not get out of him. No doubt but the presence of two sweet women in his house had sorely exercised the minister, but that was not enough to make him shut the door just now in my face and vouchsafe me not a word after my journey.

I wandered on towards the river, wondering what I was to do, when I came upon a sight which explained everything in a twinkling. Down on the bank sat, side by side, Peter Stoupe and the boy Prosper, fishing amicably in the stream. It needed no conjurer to say now who had come betwixt me and my master's family. Peter, no doubt, had brought down a pretty story of me from London; and if, as I feared, my riot with the Company had made matters only worse for my master in the White Lion, it would be easy for my mistress to believe any evil that was told of me. And as for Master Udal, Peter Stoupe was just the lad to pay dutiful heed to his exhortations, and so find admittance where I, a fool and reprobate, was not allowed.

I came on them so suddenly that I had not time to retire before they saw me. Peter seemed taken aback at the sight of me, but the boy Prosper, being a gallant lad, and greatly emboldened by the presence of his protector, rose up with a red face, and shouting, "There goes the villain! Have at you!" flung a stone my way, and would have followed it up had not Peter taken his arm and forcibly held him back.

That was quite enough for me. Had I been guilty of the villainy they suspected, I could not have turned tail more miserably. Had Peter been there alone, I might perhaps have solaced myself by pitching him out into the river. As it was, I could find nothing to say or do except to sneak away and leave them—one smiling, the other storming at my retreat.

That was not the worst. As I passed once more near the minister's house on my way to reach the London road, I came upon my mistress and Jeannette, walking slowly beneath the willows. At sight of them, my heart thumped hard within me, and I resolved at least to say a word for myself. But as I doffed my cap and crossed the way to meet them, I saw that my mistress looked hurt and distant, and, turning her head from me, drew the maid's arm in hers, and walked forward without heeding me. It stunned me, so that I could not even put one foot before the other, but stood there in the road, cap in hand, gasping for breath, and gazing after them like a man in a trance. Once, when they had gone a step or two, Jeannette glanced round with tears in her eyes, and a look that seemed not all reproach. But her mother drew her forward, and she turned; after which, for long enough, I saw her face no more.

That moment, as I stood there, was a crisis with me. My old life seemed suddenly to have drifted from me. One after another the bonds that held me to it had snapped and sundered. The pleasant 'prentice days were over. My master was in gaol, my occupation was gone, the Company from which I hoped promotion were out against me—London was no place for me now. Even my mistress frowned on me, and my sweet Jeannette, who was wont to believe in me through thick and thin, had turned away.

Was it a wonder, then, if my mind turned with a swing to the only friend that was left me, or if I vowed with myself that, if Sir Ludar would have me, I would follow him wherever he should lead?

My spirits rose—such is the buoyancy of youth—even as I turned and walked towards Richmond. Ten days ago I had not been my own master to follow him when he bade me. To-day, save my Queen, no man but he had a claim on me—ay, and what use had her Majesty for a villain like me who had assaulted a beadle!

It was late at night when I came near Richmond. I durst not show myself in the village, but hid that night in a hut near the river, wondering how I should apprise Ludar of my presence; and ever and anon, in my weakness, asking myself how it would fare with me were I to find that he too had deserted me?

All the next day I wandered about, hoping for news, but getting none. One man whom I accosted looked so hard at me when I questioned him about the Hall, that I gave him no time to answer, but slunk away to avoid him. At night, my patience came well-nigh to an end, and I resolved, come what would of it, to go to the park, if by chance I might meet Ludar there or at least send him a message.

It was dark when I climbed the palings. There was little chance, unless I marched boldly to the door of the Hall, of seeing him that night, so I resolved to bide my time, and lying somewhere within view of the house, watch till he came out in the morning. I found a thick clump of bushes separated from the house by the width of a lawn. Behind these I ensconced myself, and composed my limbs as best I might to await daybreak.

I was almost dozing, when I started suddenly to hear footsteps and voices not far away. Could it be he? It was too dark to distinguish anything, and as yet their voices were not near enough to detect the words. But they were coming nearer, and in a moment my suspense was at an end. It was not Ludar.

"That is well," said a voice which I knew to be Captain Merriman's. "You say he knows to expect you?"

"Yes, sir; I sent him word that a week hence we should join him at Milford."

"Good. Then we must start to-morrow."

"The men have orders to be at Maidenhead to-morrow night."

"Well, now, Laker; you understand our plan. I am called hence suddenly to-morrow, to London, by the Queen's order."

"Yes, sir."

"To-morrow night, an express comes to you that I am detained at the Court, and ordering you, my second in command, to haste forward to join our men in Wales. Sir William shall also receive a letter telling him that my heart is broken that I cannot take charge of the young lady to Ireland, but that you, an honest elderly dullard, will give her safe escort."

"I thank you, sir."

"That will pacify our young wolf-hound. He counts you a friend."

"Then, Laker, two days hence, at the—"

"Hush, I know the place. She shall be there, sir."

That was what I heard; and fool as I may have been, I had wits enough to guess what it all meant.

It was no time for marvelling by what strange chance I had been brought there to hear what I did. How to prevent the villainy was more to the purpose. At daybreak the captain would depart, and a day after, unless we could hinder it, the dove would be in the hawk's clutches. Yet for five hours that night had I to lie still and do nothing! If I showed myself and was caught, all might be lost. Yet if I missed my chance of warning Ludar betimes of the peril impending, it might be too late. So I sat there chafing, through the brief summer night, and at dawn was on the watch.

True to his plan, an hour after daybreak, Captain Merriman mounted his horse and sped briskly away from the Hall. Let him go! We should meet perchance again. But after that I watched the door for hours, and never a sign of Ludar. Should I have to fight for the maiden single-handed after all? At last when I was well-nigh desperate, he sallied out, cross-bow over shoulder, with solemn face, and walked towards the woods. Hiding myself well by the trees and shrubs, I made across to meet him.

His countenance lit up as he saw me; but otherwise, I might have parted from him but an hour ago.

"I expected you," said he. "Come along. This is no place for talking."

So I followed him in silence deep into the wood, where presently he flung down his bow and put his great hand on my shoulder.

"Humphrey," said he, and I could see that something big was on his mind. "Am I the same Ludar you parted with a week ago?"

"No," said I, for I had never seen him thus before.

"Humphrey, my lad," said he, "I am undone. I have lived ill and the saints have found me out. My arm hangs feeble at my side. I am turned back from being a man into a boy. I am unworthy of you—and a shame to myself—Humphrey," said he, clutching my arm till every vein in it tingled. "I am bewitched for my sins. Dost thou hear—I am—"

"In love," said I, with sinking heart. I had known what it would come to the moment I parted with the maiden at the Ferry that day. I had prayed against it; I had laughed myself out of the terror that was on me; I had called to mind his scornful jests at love. But all the while I knew what was to come of it. And I knew that what he had won I had lost.

So I finished his sentence for him; and in reply he took my hand and looked at me with an almost humble gaze. "And you do not scorn me?" said he. "I love myself," said I. "Ah! yes," said he, "you told me so; and I scorned you for it. Now— But what brings you here, Humphrey?"

The change in his voice was so sudden and resolute that it forbade me to say another word about the matter our hearts were fullest of. Who knows but that, had I spoken then, he might have guessed the truth; and so our lives might have broken asunder at that point? Now the chance was past.

But the chance was come to tell him my news, which I did, then and there, and marvellously it moved him. Not that he spoke much, still less raved. But his face grew thunderous and his eyes flashed; and the few questions he asked me he put in a voice which half startled me by its smothered passion.

He took in the whole peril in a moment; and if once I had been fool enough to imagine I should direct the enterprise which was to thwart the villainy, I was soon undeceived. "Humphrey," aid he, "are you free to stand by me in this?"

I told him that now I owned no master but him. His face cleared up joyously for a moment at that. "Good; I claim you, then, not as a master, but as a comrade. Be here to-night as the sun sets. Take this bow and dirk; and farewell, my friend, till we meet again." And he left me.



CHAPTER NINE.

HOW I CAUGHT THE MISERICORDE.

So restless and anxious was I as the day passed that I hastened back to my hiding-place in the wood early in the afternoon, determined rather to lie there than run the risk of being seen in the village. It was well I did so, for I had not been there half-an-hour when I heard Ludar's heavy tramp crashing through the underwood.

He threw himself beside me, haggard and dejected.

"How is she to know of this?" said he.

"Tell her," I answered.

He smiled scornfully.

"Had you ever seen the maiden," said he, "you would know that it is no light task. She has me at arm's length. If I tell her of her peril and offer my protection she will perhaps say she needs not my protection, or that, if I like not the peril, I need not face it. Or she may suspect me of serving myself while I denounce my enemy. Or she may take the case to Sir William, whom I believe to be the Captain's friend. To speak plain, Humphrey, I am afraid to speak to her, and for that reason I have come to you."

"Indeed," said I; "if she would not hear you, how would she be like to heed a plain London 'prentice like me?"

"At least she would not suspect you of any motive but that of serving her."

Little he knew! Yet I never saw him less courageous or more humble than now. He was a rude, uncouth outlaw, he said, and knew none of the arts and speeches of a fine gentleman. She laughed at his clumsy ways and despised his ignorance. She would as soon think of trusting her safety to him as to this elderly rascal Laker.

I did my best to reason with him, but in vain. At length, by sheer compulsion, he dragged me with him towards the park, reminding me of my vow, and bidding me, as I loved him, be his deputy in this matter.

By a lucky fortune, as we approached the gate, who should ride up on her palfrey but our maiden herself. She was alone and without attendant. Ludar told me afterwards that such was her wont. Once he had offered his escort, and she had replied he might come if he could promise her merrier company than her own. "Whereat," said Ludar, "I stayed behind."

She reined up as she saw us in the path before her, and a flush of surprise and pleasure sprang to her cheeks. How much may a man see in a moment! As she sat there, glowing with her rapid ride, and glancing from one to the other of us, I read a long history in her eyes. They were frank and fearless as ever; but as ever and anon they lit on Ludar, where he stood uneasy and blushing, they seemed to me to soften for a moment into a gentleness in which I had no share. If before I had only guessed my fate, something in her air made me sure of it now. And yet, had you seen her there, you would have said the maiden thinks no better of one of these lads than the other; nor does she think over much of either.

"Humphrey, my friend," said she, "I am glad to see you, and in this brave company. Have you taken service under our Knight of the Rueful Countenance, or does he follow you?"

"May it please you," said I, gallantly, "Sir Ludar and I know no service but yours."

"I knew not that you knew one another," said she, ignoring my speech. "Have you been hunting the English Queen's deer again, Sir Knight?"

"No, maiden," said Ludar, gravely. "But Humphrey here hath news for you if you will hear it."

Thus put forward, I related as shortly as possible what I had overheard in the park. She listened calmly; but I could tell by the paling of her cheeks and the heaving of her bosom that my story was a shock to her.

"If this be true," said she presently, "as I suppose it is, why stand we idly here?"

"The Captain quitted the Hall at daybreak," said I. "I saw him go. To- night the letter should reach Sir William announcing his detention at Court, and committing you to the charge of this man Laker."

"Before which time," said the maiden, resolutely, "I shall be far enough away, and with a better escort. What say you, Sir Ludar? When shall we set out?"

So she had accepted our protection before ever we offered it! It would have done you good to mark the joyous smile on Ludar's face as he saw all his difficulties vanish at a word, and found that she took him after all for her champion.

"In an hour's time," said he, "if it be not too speedy a making ready."

"'Tis a long journey," said she. "Which way do we go? and are we to gallop from here to Ireland all the way with the enemy at our heels?"

Then I spoke.

"By your leave," said I, "I know of an easier and safer way than the road. There is a trading ship sails to-morrow from London Bridge to Leith. I know the captain, a Frenchman. If the lady will trust herself by sea—"

"Trust the sea!" cried she, with a laugh. "Why Humphrey, my heart bounds at the thought of it. I was born on the sea. I played by it as a child. It is the only thing free under heaven. Of course we will go by sea. And while our pursuers play hide and seek by road, we shall be drinking the salt breezes, listening to the music of the waves, and watching the happy gulls as they wheel round our heads or speed forward to those we love with tidings of our coming."

And she laughed like a child to whom a holiday is offered, so that we, had there been a thousand roads, could have chosen no other for her or ourselves.

Two hours later, as it grew dusk, I lay in a boat beneath the willows, where the Park sloped down to the river's edge. Thanks to Sir William's gout, and the absence of the Captain, his guest, no one had taken the trouble to recognise me and ask me my business. And any one who may have seen me there would certainly have set me down as waterman to some visitor at the Hall, waiting my orders.

So indeed I was; and as the moments passed, I grew impatient and anxious. The tide would scarcely serve us all the way; and should the Frenchman haul his anchor too early on the morrow, we might find him gone. Besides, every moment they delayed, the man Laker might perchance suspect what was afoot and take measures to spoil our escape.

At length they came, Ludar supporting the old nurse, the serving man carrying a box, the maiden walking quietly in front, as calmly as if she were taking an evening walk to hear the nightingale sing. Not a word was spoken as they embarked, or until the boat, with Ludar and me at the oars, was dropping swiftly down the stream. Then the old woman broke out in a torrent.

"A plague on all these schoolboy antics!" cried she. "Here be we, at an hour when honest folk should be abed, slinking down the river like pirates, with ne'er a pillow to our backs or a covering to our bones— and for why? What am I to say to my master your father, child, when he knows of your running thus from your lawful guardian, and committing yourself to a brace of raw-boned gallow-glasses that ye scarce know the names of, and for all we know, are bringing us into worse plight than ever they pretend to save us from? Ochone? glad I shall be to see ye safe under O'Neill's roof; for since the day I had charge of ye, I never knew a moment's peace. Are ye not ashamed, hussy? Had ye not lesson enough among the low 'prentices, that day in the fields, and among the gallants here at Richmond, that ye trust yourself now, ay and me to, poor body that deserve better of you, to a parcel of loons on a wild voyage like this? Are ye fool enough to expect any good of such as they? Was not I myself served thus when I was a fresh young maid like you? Innocent indeed! I fancy I can see the ship they talk of, and the hills of old Tirconnell! Take my word, 'tis a trap to lead ye back to London, girl, and no more. And then, you had better have gone west with the Captain, than east with these smooth-faced schemers."

Thus she complained, and the maiden soothed her as best she could, and composed her gently to rest. Amongst us, we made the poor body a bed on the floor of the boat, where she might at least lay her limbs at ease.

For an hour or more she broke fitfully into murmurs and complaints, but presently, as we neared Chiswick, sleep came to her help and ours.

After that, the night seemed to me like a dream. The serving man lay snoring in the prow, and only we three sat up to feast on the beauty of the night. The moon rode high above our heads, changing the river into a silver band, and deepening the mysterious shadows of the crowding woods on either bank. Not a sound was heard but the regular plash of our blades; naught moved but our gliding boat, and the silent water which bore us. Ludar, lugging steadily at his oar, spoke not a word. Yet I knew, though I was at his back, where his eyes rested, and what was the big content in his heart. As for me, lulled by music of our oars, and entranced by the balmy brightness of the night, I forgot my great sorrow, and with my eyes on naught but one fair face, felt a strange peace. Nor I think was she, as she sat there, erect, in the stern, her form clear cut against the silver water behind, indifferent to the restfulness of the scene. Her eyes, gazing far away, seemed to gather in them the wandering rays of the moon; and when presently, scarce heeding, perhaps, what she did, she broke into a soft murmuring chant, which rose and fell with the cadence of our oars, I, at least, felt the bewitchment complete.

Little dreamed any of us how soon the peace of that brief voyage was to be broken.

When the midsummer dawn chased the moonbeams from off the water, we had reached Battersea, on a fast failing tide. Before we reached Lambeth, the stream was turning against us; and it needed all the strength of our arms after that to make headway. Yet how could we tire? She never drooped the livelong night, nor, when she perceived what vigour her music lent to our rowing, did she weary of chanting to us. Keeping close under the marshy southern bank to escape the current, we slowly made our way, till we came at length within sight of the Bridge.

Then ensued a toil beside which the labours of the night were as nothing; for the angry tide swirled fiercely through the narrow way, threatening, when we approached it, to drive us back up stream. Yet, by dint of much effort and clinging to the piles, and, more than all, Ludar's notable exploits with the oars, we won through at last.

The first sound that met our ears was a cheery "Yeo-ho!" somewhere near, and looking up, I saw the Frenchman, with the Queen's flag at his mast- head, making ready, so soon as the tide turned, to weigh anchor and drop seaward.

He looked over at us doubtfully, as we hailed him and came alongside; but when he saw me and heard what was in the wind, he lowered his ladder and had us up into the ship.

He was a poor man, he said, and his ship ill-fitted for so brave a company; yet if we misliked not his price, and the ladies would put up with the rest, why, then, he would take us.

Then the maiden told him to make himself easy about the price. She had wherewithal to satisfy him on that score. Whereupon the Frenchman grew monstrous civil and bade her consider the ship as her own; while as for Ludar and the serving man and me, what we lacked in money, said he, he would take out of us in work. This suited us well, and the business was settled.

As it wanted two hours yet to the turn of the tide, I begged my new captain's leave, while we waited, to take the boat in which we had come to where it would be restored to its rightful owner. The Frenchman agreed, not without difficulty; "For," said he, "so soon as the tide gives, I must weigh anchor, with you, or without you. Nevertheless, if you must go, go."

Ludar, too, dissuaded me from venturing. But the maiden said: "Why hinder him, Sir Knight? Humphrey is no child that he cannot be trusted; and to prove it, my friend," said she, drawing forth her purse, "as you return, pray buy me a large warm cloak for my good old nurse, who is ill used to the sea and is shivering already. Spend what you need, and bring me back the rest."

The purse was a heavy one, and I wondered at her freak in trusting it all to me, when one piece from it would have sufficed. However, it was not for me to question her; so, promising to be back in good time, I let myself down to the boat, and rowed lustily to the steps below the Bridge. I durst not venture further citywards where I was known; but I remembered my old enemy, Will Peake on the Bridge, and resolved to commit the boat to his care, knowing him for an honest 'prentice who would see it duly returned to its owner. Besides, where better, thought I, could I find a shawl for old Judy than among the Mercers on the Bridge?

So up to the Bridge I clambered, merry to think how soon I, and all I loved best, would be far away on the free sea, with our enemies all behind, and our hopes all before.

Will Peake hailed me civilly, and hearing of my plight, readily charged himself with the business of the boat. Then it seemed to me I could not do better than consult him about the cloak, and I did so; whereat he puffed himself very big, and said, if I meant to make the garment myself, he could sell me the stuff, if not, I must go into Cheap, and buy one ready made at the shops. So I thanked him, and hastened with quick strides citywards.

I had hoped to get my merchandise over on the Bridge. Yet there was ample time to spare even without haste. For all that, I ran, longing to be safe back on the Misericorde.

Now, just as I came near the Steel yard (where you turn by Dowgate towards Wallbrook), I met a party of soldiers loitering in the road, as it seemed in quest of somebody. Seeing me running their way, they closed upon me as I came up, and bade me halt. I bade them, angrily enough, unhand me and let me go by, as I was an honest citizen, and pressed on an errand to Cheapside. At this they laughed, and said that was what every man they caught vowed, and since they did not like the looks of me, I must away with them to see what their captain would think of me.

I protested in vain that I was in urgent haste; they laughed over again, and had me away to a tavern hard by, where, said they, their captain lodged and would see me anon.

All this time the minutes were flying, and I was at my wits' end what to do. It seemed to me wisest, if I could, to humour them, if perchance they might be cajoled to let me go. But when, after waiting half-an- hour, the captain did not appear, I felt I must do something, or give up hope of reaching the ship in time. So I beckoned the leader of the band to me.

"Friend," said I, as civilly as I could, "indeed I am not the man you take me for; I am a sailor, bound to a merchant vessel, which in half- an-hour is to sail on the tide for sea—"

"A sailor!" quoth he, "nay, by my body, thou'rt a soldier now, my lad, and a brave one to boot. We want lads of thy build for the wars; so rest thee content to travel by land instead of by sea. Here's money on it," thrusting silver into my hand, "let's see how neatly thou can'st turn up a tankard to the Queen's health!"

"No," cried I, letting the money drop, "I am no soldier. And as for money," said I, pulling out my lady's purse, "here is an angel for you, good man, if you but let me go."

"Oh, ho," cried he, "'tis a lad with a purse, is it? So much the better for us. Here, comrades," cried he.

But I waited for no more. The bells of Cheap were already chiming the hour. With a blow of my fist I felled him, and breaking through the rest of them before they comprehended what I was about, I took to my heels.

Then ensued a hue and cry the like of which Thames Street had not often witnessed. The soldiers, encumbered as they were with their harness, could only shout and raise the town. Others, more fleet, pressed me hard; others, coming to meet the uproar, hustled me, and struck me at, and tripped me as I went by. But I had not wrestled and played football in Finsbury Fields for naught. At length the crowd became so great, all running one way, that not a man knew why he ran, or what it was all about. As for me, when I saw that, I mingled with the crowd, and shouted, "Stop thief!" with the loudest of them. Then, when no one thought of me, I slipped quickly down to the water's edge, and flung myself into the first wherry I found.

But by this time the hour was long gone by. For we had been chasing half-an-hour up and down; up Watling Street, across Cheap, behind the New Exchange, up Cornhill, down Gracious Street, and along the new Fish Street towards the Bridge; so that when, more dead than alive, I struck out into the stream and shot the Bridge, not a sign was there of the Misericorde.

I was tempted to give it up then, and let who would take me. And, indeed, there seemed a good chance of that. For the owner of my wherry, supposing me to be the thief I seemed, was already out after me, and in another few minutes the hue and cry by water would be as loud as that by land. So on I went on the rapid ebb for dear life. And casting my eyes upward, I noticed that the air was still and windless; so that wherever she was, the Misericorde could be getting little help from her canvas. And if she were only drifting on the tide, why should not I with my oars make as good or better pace than she?

Yet I confess I was sorely vexed to think that they had gone without me; and when I remembered further that I had the lady's purse with me, I could have thrown myself, in despair, over my boat's side. What would they think and say of me!

I could see the waterman's boat behind me come through the Bridge, and guessed well enough that some other craft near it were joining in the pursuit. So I pulled desperately, and made my boat fly down the stream. Yet ever as I turned and looked ahead there was no sign of the Misericorde. Worse still, a flutter of breeze on my brow showed that the wind was already coming, and then, I knew I might row my arms off, and never catch her. The dogged waterman behind me still held on and seemed to be gaining. Little wonder if he did, for I had been rowing all night, and now my arms began to flag. Yet what was his stake on this race compared with mine? So away down the stream I pulled past Deptford, and the Queen's Palace at Greenwich (Heaven save her!) turning my looks now forward, now backward, and praying each minute for a sight of the Misericorde. A little past Greenwich I was near meeting my end; for, looking eagerly for a sight of my pursuers behind, I failed to perceive a boat crossing the river ahead of me; nor was it till my boat's nose struck her full in the side that I was aware of the obstacle. The man and woman in the boat (which seemed to be a floating pedlar's shop plying among the ships), swore at me roundly, and I had much ado to persuade them that no harm was done, and that if any one had a right to complain, I had. I was rowing on, to put an end to the parley, when my eye caught sight of a bundle of garments on the boat's poop.

"Stay," cried I, "to show I bear you no malice, I will even make a purchase of you, if you have what I require."

"Name it," said they, doubtfully.

"Have you a cloak, warm enough and smart enough, to wrap my poor old mother in, when I take her on the water?" said I.

"That have we," cried the woman, fumbling in the heap, "but 'tis more than you will pay."

"How much?" I remanded.

She said a half-angel; but when I too eagerly pulled out my mistress's purse to pay her, her eyes gleamed and she said she was mistaken, she had no cloak there for less than a gold angel.

"Show it me," said I, coming alongside.

It was what I wanted, yet I durst not say so. So I snatched it by force, and tossing the woman an angel, made off with my prize, leaving them amazed and swearing by all the heathen gods they had been robbed and left beggars.

While I delayed thus my pursuers had gained rapidly upon me, and I saw I must pull away in earnest if I was to avoid them. So, comforted to have the cloak, and resolved, if I rowed all the way from here to the sea, I would overtake the Misericorde, I cast aside all languor and made my craft once more leap through the water. The wind was freshening fast and helped me on. Alas! I well knew it would soon do the same both for the Frenchman's sails ahead, and for my pursuers behind. I own these latter were stronger rowers than I, for still they seemed to be creeping up upon me at every stroke, and by nothing I could do was I able to put more distance between us. Should they overtake me, there would be more delay, and that, whatever came of it, meant that the ship would be gone beyond all reach. However, when at length I swung round the point and looked up the broad reach that leads to Woolwich, there to my joy, half a mile ahead was the Misericorde, setting her sails and waiting on the coming breeze.