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Sir Ludar

by Talbot Baines Reed · English · Gutenberg #20993 · 650,292 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Sir Ludar

Author: Talbot Baines Reed


        
Release date: April 5, 2007 [eBook #20993]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20993

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR LUDAR ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Sir Ludar
A Story of the Days of the Great Queen Bess

By Talbot Baines Reed
________________________________________________________________________
For regular readers of Reed's works this will be a surprise.  Not a
mention of a school or its inhabitants!  Set in the late sixteenth
century and couched in slightly archaic English, it narrates the
adventures of an apprentice to a printer.  But this young lad gets
caught up in all sorts of adventures, and is especially drawn to Ludar,
a young Irish rebel.

There is a good deal of travelling by sea, and though this sounds
convincing as Reed writes it, there is not much depth in it.  In other
words you do not need a deep knowledge of rigging and seamanship to
follow what is happening, as you do with, for instance, the work of
W.H.G. Kingston.

There is a slightly dream-like feel about this book.  We jump from one
situation to the next without, sometimes, being sure how we got there.

Try the book for yourself, and see what you think.  NH.
________________________________________________________________________
SIR LUDAR
A STORY OF THE DAYS OF THE GREAT QUEEN BESS

BY TALBOT BAINES REED

A STORY OF THE DAYS OF THE GREAT QUEEN BESS.



CHAPTER ONE.

HOW I SAW MY QUEEN.

Every story, whether wise or foolish, grave or gay, must needs have a
beginning.  How it comes to pass that my story begins on a certain day
in May, in the year of our Lord 1585, I can never, although I am far on
in life now, properly explain.

For that was not the day on which I was born.  That adventure had
befallen me eighteen years before, at the parson's little house in
Felton Regis.  Most people who write their histories have a pride in
dragging their readers back to the moment when they first hallooed
defiance to this wicked world; but I, since I have clean forgotten the
event, must e'en confess that my story does not begin there.  A like
adventure chanced often at the parsonage, and, at nine years of age, I
reigned king absolute over a nursery full of her Majesty's subjects who
called me brother, and quailed before my nod like Helots before the
crest of a Spartan.  But, as I say, all that is neither here nor there
in my story.

Nor, in truth, is that grey September day, when, on the tail of a
country hay-cart, I rode tremulously at my dear father's side into
London; where, with much pomp and taking of oaths, I was bound
apprentice, body and soul, to Master Robert Walgrave, the printer, in
the presence of the worshipful Master, Wardens, and Assistants of the
Company of Stationers, who enriched themselves by 2 shillings 6 pence at
my father's cost, and looked upon me in a hungry way that made me
tremble in my bones, and long to be out of their sight before they
should order the bill of fare for their next feast.  That was a day in
my life truly, but it was ancient history when my story begins.  I had
grown a big lad since then, and was the king of Clubs without Temple
Bar, and the terror of all young 'prentices for a mile round, who looked
up with white cheeks when I swaggered by, and ran with their tails
between their legs to hide behind counters and doorposts till I was out
of sight.

No; nor yet does my story begin even at that sad day--alack!--when I
stood by my widowed mother at the open grave of him who had been the
pillar of our house and the pride of our lives.  "Humphrey, my boy," she
had said as she placed her hand on my arm and led me, like one in a
dream, from the place, "it is God who has taken--He will surely also
give.  Shall I count all lost, with a stalwart arm like this to lean
upon?"  Then she kissed me, and I, for very shame, dried my eyes and
held up my head.  Ah me! that was but a year before; the world had still
moved on, the grass covered his grave, and still my story lacked a
beginning.

How comes it, then, that this day in May, of all others, should stand up
like a wall, as I look back over my life, and seem to me the beginning
of all things?  Perhaps this history may show--or, perhaps, he who reads
it may come to see that I was right when I said I could not explain it.

It was a great day in London, within and without Temple Bar; and for me,
if for no other reason, it was famous, because on that day, for the
first and last time, I saw the great Queen Elizabeth.  About eight
o'clock, while I stood, as was my wont, setting types in my master's
shop, I looked from the window (as was also my wont), and spied two
falconers in their green coats, with a trumpeter riding in the midst,
ambling citywards.  In a moment I dropped my stick (and with it, alack!
a pieful of my master's types), and was out, cap and club, in the
Strand, shouting till I was hoarse, "God save her Majesty!"

On the instant, from every shop far and near, darted 'prentices and
journeymen, shouting and waving caps--some because they saw me do so,
some because they guessed what was afoot, some because they saw, even
now, the flutter of approaching pennons, and caught the winding of the
royal huntsmen's horns along the Strand.

The Queen was coming!

I went mad that day with loyalty.  I kicked my fellows for not shouting
louder, and such as shouted not at all, I made to shout in a way they
least expected.  Through the open door of Master Straw's, the
horologer's, I spied his two 'prentices, deaf to all the clamour, basely
gorging a hasty pudding behind the bench.

"What!" shouted I, bursting in upon them, and seizing each by his
cropped head, "what, ye gluttonous pair of porkers, is this the way you
welcome her Majesty into our duchy?  Is this a time for greasy pudding
and smacking of lips?  Come outside and shout, or I'll brain you with
your own spoons."

Whereupon, forgetting what I did, I dipped the white face of each in his
own mess, and dragged them forth, where, to do them justice, they
shouted and howled as loud as any one.

And now the Strand overflowed from end to end with loyal citizens.  From
the windows above, the faces of the city madams beamed, and the white
necks of their daughters craned; while behind, with half an eye on us
clubs below, peeped, on tiptoe, the maids.  At each shop-door stood the
grave forms of our masters, thinking, perhaps, of a lost day's profits,
and setting the cost thereof against the blessings of her Majesty's
happy reign.  At the roadside, beggar, scholar, yokel, knight, and noble
jostled in a motley throng.  But the sight of all that crowd was the
'prentices, who swarmed out into the road, and raised our shouts above
the clanging of Saint Clement's bells and the trumpets of the Royal
servants.  'Twas no pageant we had come out to see.  Giants, and whales,
and bottomless pits, and salvage men, and the like we could see to our
hearts' content on Lord Mayor's Day; and the gilded barges and smoking
cannon on the river's side.  But it was not every day her Majesty ambled
through the city on her hunting horse, and passed our way with her
gallants for a day's sport in Epping woods.

As for me, I had no eyes or throat for any but that queenly woman, as
she cantered boldly on her white palfrey, a pace or more ahead of her
glittering courtiers.  Had any one said to me that Elizabeth was that
day neither young nor lovely--had anyone even dared to whisper that she
was not divine--I would have brained him with my club where he stood.
For a moment her head turned my way, she waved her hand--it had a little
whip in it--and her lips moved to some words.  Then as I rent the air
with a "God save your Majesty!" she was past.

At Temple Bar, the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, arrayed for the hunt, with
buglers and dogs attending, stood across the way, and with mighty
ceremony and palaver admitted her to the City.  Woe betide them, for all
their gold collars and maces, had they kept her out!

But the halt, short as it was, served our purpose.  For there was no
more going back to work on a day like this.

"To the front, clubs, and lead the way," shouted I, with what voice was
left me.

It was enough for the lads without Temple Bar.  They closed on me with a
cheer, and followed me at the run, past the gaping Court ushers, past
the royal jockeys, past the Queen herself (Heaven bless her!) past Lord
Mayor, Sheriffs, and yapping beagles, through the echoing gates of
Temple Bar, till we stood at the head of the procession, and longed,
with a mighty longing, that someone might dispute the way with us.

But we had no work for our clubs that morning.  As we moved forward, our
body, like a growing snowball, was swelled by the 'prentices of each
ward, shouting as lustily as we, "Make way!" and hurling defiance, like
us, on all the Queen's foes by land and by sea.  Even the gay sparks of
the Temple gave us no handle for a sally, for they shouted with the best
of us.

And so, down Fleet Street and in at the Ludgate, past the square tower
of Saint Paul's, and along merry Cheap, we passed; our numbers swelling
at every step, till it seemed as if all London was out escorting her
Majesty through the city.  As you passed below Bow Church you could
scarcely hear the clanging of the bells for the shouting of the people.

At the New Exchange there was like to be a battle at last.  For the
'prentices, of the Bridge had heard the uproar from afar, and swarmed
down upon us in a flood, so that had we not held our own stoutly, we
should have been driven back upon the royal huntress herself.

"Stand, if you be men, and fall in after us!"  I shouted.

"Ho! ho!" answered they; "since when was the printer's devil outside the
Bar made mayor of our town?  Follow you us."

It was not a time for bandying words.  From behind us came a shout,
"Pass on, pass on; room for the Queen!"  And at the word we charged
forward, shoulder to shoulder, and brushed those unmannerly mercers and
barber-surgeons aside as a torrent the nettles that grow on its bank.
Let them follow as they list.  The Queen went hunting to-day, and was
not to be kept standing for a score of London Bridges, if we knew it.

After that we passed shouting up the Cornhill, and so on to the Bishop's
Gate, where at length we halted and made a lane in our midst for her
Majesty to ride through.

Never, I think, did monarch ride down a prouder road than that, walled
four-deep for the length of two furlongs by youths who would fain have
spilt their blood twice over to do her service, and who, since that was
denied them, flung their shouts to heaven as she passed, and waved their
caps club-high.  I think, in truth, she needed no telling what kind of
road it was, for as she cantered by her face was flushed and joyous, her
head was erect, and the hand she waved clenched on the little whip, as
though she grasped her people's hand.  Then in a moment she was gone.

Thus for the first and only time did I set eyes on the great maiden
Queen; and when all was over, and the clattering hoofs and yelping
hounds and winding horns were lost in the distance, I came to myself and
found I was both hungry and athirst.

The crowd melted away.  Some returned the way they had come: some slunk
back to their deserted shops: I to Finsbury Fields.  For I accounted it
a crime that day to work--I would as soon have set up types on Lord
Mayor's Day.  This day belonged to her Majesty, and I would e'en spend
it in her service, wrestling and leaping in the meadows, and training my
body to deeds of valour against her foes.

So I called on my clubs to follow me, and they came, and many besides;
for those who might not see the Queen hunt might see her loyal citizens
jump; and on a day like this it was odds if the nimblest 'prentices in
all London were not there to make good sport.

Therefore we straggled in a long crowd to Moorgate--man and maid, noble
and 'prentice, alderman and oyster-woman, jesting and scolding as we
jostled one another in the narrow way, and rejoicing when at length we
broke free into the pleasant meadows and smelt the sweetness of the
early hay.

Already I spied sport, for there before us swaggered the mercers'
'prentices of London Bridge, ready to settle scores for the affront they
had received at the New Exchange.

"Ho! ho!" quoth I, with vast content, "'tis time we had dinner, my lads,
if it comes to that."

So we besieged the booths, and fortified ourselves with beef and ale,
and felt ready for anything that might happen.

'Twas no battle after all; for, as ill-luck would have it, just as we
faced them and bade them come on, the alderman of the Bridge Ward rode
up.

"What! a shame on you to mar a day like this with your boyish wrangles!
Is there no wrestling-ring, or shooting-butts, or leaping-fence where
you can vent your rivalry, without flying at one another's throats like
curs?  Call you that loyalty?  Have we no enemies better worth our
mettle than fellow-Englishmen?"

This speech abashed us a little, and the captain of the Bridge
'prentices said, sulkily:

"I care not to break their heads, worship; there's little to be got out
of that.  Come, lads, we can find better sport in the juggler's booth."

"His worship came in a good hour for you," cried we.  "Thank him you can
slink away on your own legs this time, and need no one to drag you feet
foremost off the Fields."

"Come, come," said the good alderman, "away with such foolish talk.
Let's see a match struck up.  I myself will give a new long-bow and a
sheaf of arrows to the best jumper of you all.  What say you?  The
highest leap and the broadest?  Ho, there!" added he, calling a servant
to him; "bid them clear a space for a match 'twixt the gallant
'prentices of the Bridge and the gallant 'prentices without Temple Bar.
Come, boys; were I forty years younger I'd put you to it to distance me.
But my jumping days are gone by, and I am but a judge."

Then we gave him a cheer, the bluff old boy; and, forgetting all our
quarrel in the thought of the long-bow and arrows, we trooped at his
horse's tail to the open space, and doffed our coats in readiness for
the contest.

A great crowd stood round to see us jump.  The scene remains in my
mind's eye even now.  'Prentices, bare-headed, squatted cross-legged on
the grass, bandying their noisy jests, and finding a laugh for everybody
and everything.  Behind them stood a motley throng of sightseers, men,
women, and children, for the most part citizens, but interspersed here
and there with gay groups of gentlefolk, and even some who wore the
bright trappings of the Court.  Behind them the beggars and pickpockets
plied their arduous calling; and in the rear of all, at a little
distance, wandered the horses of the gentles, cropping the fresh grass,
with no eye to the achievements of Temple Bar or London Bridge.  Beyond
them soared the windmills and the hills of Isledon and Hoxton.

It was a scene familiar to me, for I had often taken it in before; and
yet for a while to-day it seemed new, and my eye, as I waited at the
post, wandered here and there to detect what it could be which made all
seem so strange.  After a while I discovered that, wherever else they
roamed, my glances returned always to one bright spot, close by where
stood a maiden.

It seemed to me I had never known what beauty meant till I looked on
her.  She was tall, and dressed more simply than many a citizen's wife,
and yet her air was that of a goddess.  Every movement of her head bore
the signs of queenliness; and yet in every feature of her face lurked a
sweetness irresistible.  At first sight, as you saw her, tall, erect,
with her short clustering hair and fearless eyes of blue, you would have
been tempted to suppose her a boy in disguise.  Yet if you looked a
moment longer, the woman in her shone out in every step and gesture.
Her cheeks glowed with health and maidenly modesty; and her eyes, that
flashed on you one moment almost defiantly, dropped the next in coyness
and delicious confusion.

She stood there, conspicuous and radiant amid the jostling crowd, yet
wholly heedless of the glances and whispers and perplexity she drew
forth.  As for me, I scarcely knew where I was, and when the alderman
cried, "Make ready, now," I obeyed him as a man in a dream.

But I recovered myself of a sudden when presently I saw the captain of
the Bridge 'prentices, who was a shorter man than I, leap over the bar
as high as his own shoulders, and heard the triumphal shouts of his
fellows.  After him, one by one, came the picked men of either side, but
at each leap the bar sprung into the air, and the champions retired
worsted from the contest.

Then came my turn.  I dared to dart a hurried glance where stood the
only onlooker whose applause I coveted.  And she turned her head towards
me.

So I took my run and cleared the bar.

"A match! a match!" cried the crowd, closing in a step; "a match between
Will Peake and Humphrey Dexter."

"And take my sword and cloak," shouted a Bridge boy, who owned neither,
"if Will Peake do not over-jump the printer's devil's head."

This made me angry.  Not that I cared for the gibe; but because I
disliked that one there should hear me called by so graceless a name.

Well, we jumped once more; but this time I dared not look anywhere, but
straight before me.  Yet I cleared the bar.

Whereupon the Bridge boys vaunted themselves more soberly, and he who
had offered his cloak and sword now offered only his belt.

"Set the bar two points higher," I cried, "and clear me that, Will
Peake, if you can."

At that our lads rent the air with shouts, and Will Peake pulled a long
face.  For the bar now stood level with his eyes, though it only reached
my chin.

It fell out as I hoped.  He jumped, and the bar sprang six yards into
the air as he missed it.

Then our 'prentices made up for the silence of those of the Bridge; and
this time the gamester offered not so much as a shoe lace.

For all that, I must clear the bar, if I was to make good my challenge;
and I drew a long breath as I stood a moment and glanced round.

Yes.  Her eyes of blue were on me, her lips were the least bit parted,
and a glow of expectation was in her cheeks.

So I took my run and cleared the bar, with an inch to spare.

Then, as I heard nothing of the shouts which yet deafened me, and durst
not so much as raise my eyes, the cheery alderman's voice cried:

"So Master Dexter hath won the high jump.  See if he also win the broad.
Clear away there, and stand back, good people, to give our brave lads
fair play."

When I took courage at last to look up, I saw a sight which made the
blood in my veins tingle.

She stood still where she was; but next to her had squeezed himself a
smirking gallant, bravely bedizened, who looked round impudently into
her face, and whispered something in her ear.

To me it seemed as if at first she was heedless of his presence, then,
hearing him, she turned upon him a startled gaze, and, flushing angrily,
moved a scornful pace away.

This I saw, while the alderman was saying--

"The first leap is yours, Master Dexter.  See you set us a good lead."

I leapt, scarcely thinking what I did, and leapt badly; for though one
by one the others failed to reach it, Will Peake reached it, and lit in
my very footprints.

"A match again!" cried everyone, "and a close match, too!"

The gallant had made up to her again, and was tormenting her sweet ear
once more with his whispers.  She stood rigid like a statue with her
eyes before her, showing only by the heaving of her bosom that she was
aware of his unwelcome presence.

"You keep us waiting, lad," cried the alderman.  "Jump, unless you mean
to yield the victory to your adversary."

I jumped, listlessly again, and again alighted within an inch of my
former distance.  And once again, Will Peake landed in my very hoof-
marks.

"A mortal match!" cried the crowd.

"One leap more," said the alderman, "and if that does not decide--"

He was there still, and, worse than before, had caught the little hand
that hung at her side in his.  The colour had gone from her face.  I saw
that she bit her lips, and for one moment her eyes looked up appealingly
and, so it seemed to me, met mine.

Then with my heart swelling big within me, I walked to the starting-
point, and ran for my last leap.

It was with all my might that I jumped now, and I cleared two good feet
beyond my former distance; so that the onlookers could scarcely shout
for amazement.

But I waited neither for their shouts nor for Will's jump, for I knew he
could not reach me.  With beating heart, and fingers digging into the
palms of my hands, I walked straight to where she stood, pale and
trembling.  Her right hand was still his prisoner, and his cursed lips
were still at her ear.  But not for long.

Before he was aware, I had seized him with a grip which made him howl;
and next moment he was reeling and staggering a dozen yards away in the
midst of the enclosure.  It all happened so quickly that even she seemed
scarcely to know of her deliverance, till she saw him draw his sword and
look round for me.

Then, to draw the combat away from her, I went on to meet him with my
club; and before his first onset was done, his sword flew over his head
in two pieces.  It was an old trick, and cost nothing to a 'prentice
outside Temple Bar.  And while he looked round, bewildered, after his
weapon, I took him by the nape of his neck and the cloth of his
breeches, and walked with him to the pond hard by, where I left him, and
so was well rid of him.

By this time the Fields were in an uproar.  So intent had all been on
the leaping, to see if Will Peake would equal my jump (which, Heaven
help him! he could not do), that the gallant was swinging over the pond
before anyone understood what was afoot.  Then they broke up the ring
and closed in on us, so that I, having dropped my burden amidst the
duck-weed, was fain to lose myself among the crowd and give one and all
the slip.

I thought I had done so, for while all stood gaping and jeering as they
fished out the sputtering hero from his pea-green bath, I sauntered back
unheeded to the place where last I had seen her for whose sake all the
pother arose.  At first I feared she had fled, but on looking I spied
her in company with an elderly woman, who soothed and chid her in turn,
and began to hurry her from the place.

But when she saw me, she brushed the old servant aside, and with a blush
beckoned me to her.  Shall I ever forget the vision of her, as she stood
there, stately and beautiful, with hand outstretched, smiling on me with
mingled pity for my shyness and gratitude for my service?

"My brave friend," said she, and her voice fell like music on my ears,
"I have nothing but my poor thanks to give thee, but they are thine."

The crimson now came to my cheeks, for it hurt me to hear her talk of
payment.

"I would gladly do it all again," said I.

"Nay," she laughed, "once is enough surely, at least for me."

Then I wished the ground might swallow me, for I deemed she thought me a
fool.

"She would come," put in the old servant in an accent which, though I
had never heard it before, I took to be Scotch or Irish; "I told her
myself what to expect among a crowd of rude, rascally City sparks, that
don't know a lady when they see her, and when they do, don't know how to
behave themselves.  It serves her right, say I, and it's myself will see
she frolics no more, I warrant you--a low, unmannerly pack of curs, with
a plague on all of you."

"Never heed my old nurse," said the young lady, sweetly; "she and I were
parted in the crowd, and but for you, brave lad, I might have rued my
folly in coming hither more than I do.  Thanks once more, and farewell.
Come, Judy--thank good Master Dexter for taking better care of me than
ever you did, and then come away."

I stood like a mule gaping after them as they went, unable to stir or
say a word till they were lost to view.  Then as I turned came a shout
at my ears: "There he stands!--there stands the villain!  Seize him and
hold him fast.  He shall learn what it is to assault a captain of the
Queen's guard."

Ho! ho!  There were a round dozen of them, and one on horseback.  But I
knew of two dozen better than they within call.

So I shouted, "Clubs, clubs, to the rescue!" and began to lay about me.



CHAPTER TWO.

HOW I SERVED A DISORDERLY PRINTER.

My assailants were a mixed crew, some being lackeys of the half-drowned
gallant, some constables of the watch, others idle swashbucklers ready
to lend a hand to any cause and against any man for a pot of ale.  But
they took no advantage from hiring themselves against a poor 'prentice
from without Temple Bar, for they got sore heads for their pains.

I myself could not do over much till my comrades arrived, for I was in
an open place and could not see all sides of me at once.  So, after
three of them had gone down, I was well-nigh being mastered by the rest,
but for the timely help of my honest club-fellows.

Foremost among these who should come but honest Will Peake, my late
enemy, who, when it was a matter between 'prentices and Court bullies,
forgot all old sores, and laid about him like a man.  Behind him came a
score or two of honest lads, some of my ward, some of others; and
between us all you may judge if the numskulls who set upon me had a
merry time of it.  We left them mostly on the ground in a sorry plight,
and the rest we sent packing back to them that owned them, with a
message to send a few of better mettle than they if they wanted to catch
us.

Then, as the messengers did not return, we gave loud cheers for the
Queen, and went each our several ways.

As for me, I was in no humour for the noisy company even of my own
fellows, and excused myself from a march home through the wards.  I made
a pretext to go and find my coat and cap, and let them depart without
me.

For I was haunted yet by the memory of that fair face and the sweet
music of her voice, and I wished to be alone.

Moreover, it vexed me grievously that any servant of so gracious a Queen
as ours could be base enough to offer a helpless maiden a discourtesy,
and that in chastising him I must needs put an affront on the dignity of
her Majesty's Court.  But that weighed less when I remembered what I had
seen, and I would fain have had the doing of it all again, despite her
gentle protest.

So I waited till the crowd was gone, and then paced, moodily enough,
citywards.

But, at the entrance to the Fields, there overtook me a handful of
horsemen, bravely equipped; amongst whom, as I looked round, I saw the
author of all this mischief himself.  His gay cloak hid the stains of
the duck-weed, and as for his sword, he had borrowed another from one of
his men.  Mounted as he was, it was not likely he should notice a common
'prentice lad like me, yet I resolved notice me he should, even if I
went to the pillory for it.

So I stood across the way, and said:

"Farewell, brave captain.  The pond will be deeper next time, and
Humphrey Dexter will be there to put you in it."

He turned about, crimson in face, and cursed savagely as he saw me--for
he knew (or guessed, shrewdly enough), who I was.  Then calling loudly
to his servants:

"An angel to the man who catches the knave!" cried he.  "Seize him, and
bring him to me."

Whereat, being only one footman to a dozen horse, I gave a clean pair of
heels.

I soon shook off my pursuers, who liked not the narrow alleys and
winding lanes of our city, where their horses stumbled and they
themselves missed their way.  One only, whether from stubbornness or the
hope of the angel, kept up the hue and cry, and, being mounted on a
nimble pony, followed me close.  At length it seemed shame to be running
from a single man; so at the next corner I turned and waited for him.
He ran at me with his weapon, and called loudly on the watch to help
him, but I pulled him from his horse and had him up against the wall
before he could cry again--yet not before he had pricked me in the arm
with his blade.

He was a stout little man, and a brave one; but, by no fault of his, he
was powerless in my grip.  I wrenched the sword from his hand, and held
him by the throat till he signalled a surrender.

"Tell me first your master's name.  On your knees, and with an oath,
lest I find you lie," said I, in none too sweet a mood.

He had naught else he could do; so, falling on his knees, took Heaven to
witness that his master's name was David Merriman, a captain in her
Majesty's service; lodging now at the Court, but presently about to join
the Queen's forces in Ireland.

That was enough for me.

"Tell Master David Merriman I shall remember his name, and bid him
remember mine against we meet next--and so farewell."

I left him puffing for breath against the wall, and departed.  But
hearing the watch raise a new hue and cry at my heels, I quickened my
steps, and so after many a tedious circuit, ran into my master's shop
just as he was about to bolt the door for the night.

He received me sourly, as indeed I expected.

"So," said he, "this is your faithful service which you swore to render
me; and you a parson's son, that should know what an oath is."

He was for ever taunting me with my dear father's holy calling, and it
vexed me to hear it.

"I am also under oath to serve my Queen," said I, "and I put that before
all."

"And you serve her by drunkenness, and rioting, and breaking the heads
of her loyal subjects!  I have heard of you this day.  How comes it that
your fellow 'prentice Peter Stoupe--"

"A plague on Peter Stoupe!" said I, for I disliked him.  "And as for
drunkenness, I was never drunk in my life; nor, by my own leave, a
rioter."

"By whose leave, then?" asked Master Walgrave.

"By the leave of them who behave themselves as knaves," said I, getting
hot as I thought of Captain Merriman; "and had they twenty skulls, and a
crown on each, I'd crack 'em."

"Had they no crowns, they would not be worth the cracking," said a
cheerful voice behind us; and there stood Mistress Walgrave herself.
"Come, husband," said she, soothingly, "be not too hard on Humphrey, he
is but a lad.  He serves us well most days, when the Queen is not to the
front.  I warrant thee, Robert, thou wast a merry 'prentice once
thyself."

"That I never was," said Master Walgrave, with an acid face; "but get in
with you, sirrah, and to bed.  I had a mind to leave you on the other
side of the door this night, to cool your hot blood."  And he bolted the
door, whilst I slunk up to my garret.

Peter Stoupe was already asleep and snoring; and as he lay clean across
the bed, I must needs arouse him to take his own side and make room for
me.

"What, Humphrey!--I give God thanks to see thee back," said he,
drowsily; "I feared something was amiss.  There was a rumour that you
lodged this night in Newgate."

"You listened to a lie, then," said I.

"And it is not true, is it, that you naughtily assaulted a gentleman of
the Court?"

"And what if I did?"  I demanded.

"Alas!  Humphrey, think of the trouble it is like to bring on our good
master and mistress.  Have you no thought for anyone but yourself?  Yet,
I give thanks thou art safe, so--far--my--good--Humpi--" and here he
rolled off to sleep and left me in quiet.

Yet not in peace, for I could not sleep that night for many an hour.
For my life seemed to have taken a strange turn round since morning.
Before to-day I had thought the 'prentice's life the merriest life in
the world.  I had cared for nobody, and it had troubled me little if
nobody cared for me.  Strange that now I felt like a greyhound in the
leash, longing to be anywhere but where I was.

Besides, I had more solid grounds for wakefulness.  However well to-day
I had given my pursuers the slip, I guessed I had not heard the last of
Captain Merriman and his merry men.  They would find me out; and I might
yet become, as Peter had said, a lodger in Newgate, and, worse than
that, a cause of trouble and distress to good Master Walgrave and his
lady.

For, however poorly I esteemed my master, I could ill afford to bring
harm on his family.  For my mistress was ever my champion and my friend,
and her children I was wont to love as my own brothers and sisters.

So I spent half the night kicking in my bed--of which kicks Master Peter
received his full share--and rose very early, resolved to try what hard
work could do to cure my unrest.

No one was stirring that I could hear, and I went down the stairs
silently and took up my labour at the case.  My stick lay on the floor,
where I had dropped it the morning before, and, alack! the squabbled
type lay there too, a sight to make a man sad.  Slowly and painfully I
saved what I could, and was setting myself to make good the rest, when
my ears caught a strange sound below my feet.  It was a beating sound,
followed by the dull fall of something, and, on listening, it came and
went every two or three minutes.

I had guessed more than once before now that under the house was a
cellar, although I had never been there, nor, indeed, knew how to
approach it.  For there was no opening, front or back, to the outer
world that I knew of, and, if there at all, it must be pitch-dark and
hard to breathe in.  And yet the noise I now heard, if it came from
anywhere, came from below.  I looked about carefully, hoping for a crack
in the floor through which to solve the mystery.  But crack there was
none.  Only as I looked further I saw that the reams of paper, which lay
usually near the press, were moved somewhat to one side.  Now, as my
master was always particular that the paper should lie always in the
same place, it seemed strange to me they should be so disturbed.  But on
going nearer I perceived the reason.  For there, usually hidden to view,
was now exposed a cunning trap-door, opened by a hinge and sunken ring
in the boards.

Now, having found so much, it would have been out of all nature had I
gone back to my work and thought no more of the matter; besides, the
strange noise still continued.  I lifted the door cautiously about an
inch and peeped below.

The cellar--for cellar it was--was bright with the light of a lamp, by
which I could plainly discern my master (or, as I believed for a moment,
my master's ghost), with coat off, and sweating with the heat of the
place, working like any journeyman at a printing-press, on which lay a
forme of type, which he inked with his balls and struck off in print
with the noises which had perplexed me above.

Then I pulled up the trap and called out:

"Master Walgrave, spare yourself so much toil, I pray you, and let me
help you."

He turned round, with a face the colour of dough, like a man who had
just received an arrow in his vitals; then he rushed as if to put out
the lamp.  But his presence of mind returned before he got that length,
and he demanded of me angrily enough how I dared to play the spy on him
and come where I was not bidden.

I replied I was no spy, and, as for coming where I was not bidden, had I
known who it was down there I would have stayed where I was.  But, being
there, might I help him, I asked, at the work?  He answered angrily,
"No," and bade me begone.  Whereupon I returned to my case, and waited
till he should come up to the earth's surface.

Meanwhile I recalled not a few rumours I had heard about Master
Walgrave.  One was, that, though he was only licenced to have one press,
and seemed to have no more, yet (it was whispered of some), he had
another in hiding, which now I found to be true.  Moreover, as I was in
Stationers' Hall one day, a month or more ago, to pay the fee for a
register, I overheard Timothy Ryder the beadle and another talking about
my master.

"He prints more than he registers," said one.

"And he should have his ears cropped for his pains," said Timothy, "did
I but know where to have him."

Then seeing that I waited (for they had forgot to give me my
acquittance), they dropped talking suddenly.

By all this I guessed that my master was no favourite with them of
Stationers' Hall, and, moreover, that he was addicted to disorderly
practices contrary to the Acts binding printers.  But so well did he
keep his own secret, and so busy was I with my own affairs, that it all
passed from my mind, and now only returned when I saw that what had been
said of him was true.

He came up from below presently, and I was ready for him.  "Master,"
said I, "I have displeased you against my will, and I have seen what you
would fain have kept a secret.  You shall find it remains safe with me,
for I am your 'prentice and bound to you.  Therefore cheer up."

He brightened at this.

"You are a good lad," said he.  "It concerns no one what I do below.
'Tis an amusement of my own, no more."

As he stood there, pale and anxious, with weary eyes, it seemed to me an
amusement which yielded him but little sport.  However, I did not
dispute the matter, and we said no more about it.

But after that day I observed that my master, although he seemed to like
me less, was more sparing of his bitter words than heretofore.  Whereby
I guessed plainly enough that the amusement he spoke of, were it to come
to the ears of the Master and Wardens of the Company, would get him into
no little trouble.

Mistress Walgrave, his wife, as I said, was ever my good friend.  She
was no common woman, and how those two made a match of it always puzzled
me.  Before she came to England (so she had told me often), she lived at
Rochelle, in France, where her first husband was a merchant in lace.
Then, when he died of the plague ten years ago, she came with her two
young children (the elder being but five years), to her mother's home in
Kent, where Robert Walgrave, being on a visit to Canterbury, met her,
and offered her marriage.  And in truth she had been the brightness of
his house ever since, and her two French children, Jeannette and
Prosper, now tall girl and boy, lived with her, as did some three other
urchins who called Master Walgrave father.  Sweet Jeannette was my
favourite; for she was lame, and had her mother's cheery smile, and
thought ill of no one, least of all of me whom she called her big
crutch, and tormented by talking French.

Many a summer afternoon, when work was slack, I carried her to the
water-side, where she might sit and watch the river flowing past.  And
to reward me she made me read her about King Arthur and his knights, and
stories from Mr Chaucer's book; much of which I understood not, though
(being a printer's 'prentice), I knew the words.

One still evening as we sat thus, not a week after my adventure in
Finsbury Fields, she broke in on my reading with--

"_Voila_, see there, Master Humphrey; _mais, comme elle est jolie_!"

"I don't know what you say, when you talk like that, mistress," said I;
for I liked not the French jargon, although by dint of long suffering it
I had a better guess at the meaning of it often than I cared to own.

"Look, I say," said she, "would not she be a queen of beauty for the
knights of old to fight for?"

I looked where she pointed; and there, gliding within a few yards of us,
passed a boat, and in it, drinking in the beauty of the evening, sat a
maiden, at sight of whom I felt the blood desert my cheeks, and the hand
that held the book tremble.  Her old companion was beside her dozing,
and the waterman lugged lazily at his oars, humming an air to himself.

Jeannette, happily, was looking not at me but at her, and so my troubled
looks escaped her.

"I never saw a face more fair," said she.  "'Tis like a picture out of
Mr Chaucer's book.  And now that she is past, the day seems darker.  Go
on reading, please, kind Master Humphrey."

I tried to go on, but I blundered and lost my place, while my eyes tried
to follow the boat.

Would she but have looked round!  Could she but have known who it was
that watched her!  Could I myself have dared even to shout or call!

Alas! the boat glided by, and her form, stately, erect, fearless, lost
itself in the distance.  What dreamed she--a queen--of an uncouth London
'prentice?

"Master Dexter," said Jeannette's soft voice presently, "for five whole
minutes you have been trying to read one little sentence, and it still
lacks an ending.  What ails you?"

"Nothing, mistress; but I am a bad scholar and the words are hard; I
pray you forgive me.  Besides it grows late.  'Tis time we went in."

So I carried her in to her mother, and then ran wildly back to the
river's edge, if by good hap I might see that lady return, or at least
catch sight of her boat in the far distance.  But I did neither.  The
tide still ran out, and amongst the many boats that dotted the water
citywards who was to say which was hers?

As I returned by way of the Temple to my master's house, I met Peter
Stoupe, my fellow 'prentice.

"I am glad I met thee," he said.  "A man came to me just now in the shop
and said, 'Be you Humphrey Dexter?'  I told him no, and asked him what
he wanted.  He told me that was his business.  I bade him wait where he
was and I would fetch you, for I had seen you go out; but he went away
grumbling, saying he would choose his own time, not mine.  Alas!
Humphrey, you have brought us all into sad trouble by your naughty
ways."

"What trouble are you in, sirrah?" said I, wrathfully.  "It matters
little to you what comrade is laid by the heels, so that you get your
platter full, morning and evening."

"But our good master and mistress--" he began.

But I waited not for him and went quickly home.

That night my master called me as I was going to my bed, and said,
"Humphrey, there is like to be sad trouble here on your account.  A
warrant, I am told, is out to seize you, you know best for what; but, if
it be true, you struck a gentleman of the Queen's household--"

"I struck a dog who affronted a defenceless maiden," said I, "and I put
him in the pond, to boot, and I care not if I go to the cage for it."

"But I care.  If I harbour you here I am like to receive the punishment
which belongs to you.  And if I give you up I lose a good 'prentice.  I
can say thus much for you."

"Then," said I, not heeding his flattery, "I had better go away myself."

I never guessed he would take to this; but, to my surprise, he did.

"I and your mistress think so, too, Humphrey.  Whilst the hue and cry
lasts you are better anywhere than here.  When it has ceased, you may
safely return.  Meanwhile, as fortune will have it, I can employ you
still in my service."

Then he told me how he desired to send a letter to a friend of his at
Oxford, which, being of the gravest importance, he wished delivered by a
trusty messenger--as he took me to be.  Therefore, if I was ready to
forward him in the matter, I might avoid my pursuers, and do him a
service to boot.

I hailed the offer with joy and thankfulness.  I longed for a change
somewhere, I cared not where, and, if skulk I must, an errand like this
would please me vastly more than hiding for a week in my master's
cellar.

"Be secret," said he (meaning, I suppose, Stoupe).  "To-morrow early be
ready to start to Kingston, where you may get a horse.  Meanwhile your
mistress is herself making you a cloak which shall be proof against all
weathers.  So good-night, Humphrey, and see you rouse yourself betimes
in the morning."



CHAPTER THREE.

HOW I RODE POST-HASTE TO OXFORD.

The summer sun had not been up long before I too was out of bed.  Early
as the hour was, my master and mistress were both astir, and bade me
make a hearty meal in view of my journey.

While I ate, my master said:

"As the tide runs now, Humphrey, you may make a good part of your
journey by water, and 'twill do you no harm to be your own waterman."

"Indeed no," said I; for I hated to sit idle in a boat.

"Should you reach Brentford on the flood, there are many who will ease
you of your craft, and bring her back.  Meanwhile 'tis an easy road by
the river's bank to Kingston.  We have a good friend there, one Master
Udal, the minister, with whom this letter will procure you a welcome,
and at his house you are to lie to-night.  He will lend you a horse and
put you on the way to Oxford."

"And see here, Humphrey," said my mistress, holding up a brave cloak of
dark red cloth, as long as to my knee, "here is what will comfort you
against the cold morning air, and change you into a veritable highwayman
on the road."

It was a brave cloak indeed, so weighty and well padded, that had my
journey been not to Oxford, but to the Poles, it would not have been
amiss.

"See you take care of it," continued my good mistress.

"It is your gift and your making," said I, "so I can readily promise
that."

"I can lend you a hat to match it," said my master, "and a sword."

"I have a sword of my own," said I, proudly, for I had taken one from
Mr Merriman's bully, a week ago.

"Well, well.  The weather promises fair for your journey.  Do whatever
the minister bids you, and return speedily when your business is over.
Here is a purse which will cover all your needs, with something to bring
back to me at the end.  And so, farewell, Humphrey.  Be secret, and talk
to no one on the way without necessity."

My mistress also bade me farewell, and between them they hurried me off
to the wherry.  In my haste I was near leaving behind me my brave new
cloak.  But my master, seizing it, came with it angrily, and said:

"Is this your care, sirrah!  If you end your journey no better than you
begin it, 'twill be little enough to boast of."

Which I considered fuss enough about a matter which concerned only my
own person, and not his errand.  For what was my cloak to him?  Yet I
felt ashamed to have neglected my mistress' kindness, and I told him so,
whereat he was pacified.

The tide served me some three hours and more, in which time, by dint of
hard rowing, I reached Brentford, where I left the boat.  Being weary
and hot (for the sun was now high and fierce), I resolved to dine before
I went farther, and sought the nearest tavern for that purpose.  It was
an ill-looking place, and kept by an ill-looking host; but hunger is no
respecter of persons; and, as he called me "your worship," and set
before me a brave leg of pork, with ale to keep it in countenance, I
forgave him his ugly face, and fell to without more ado.  When I came to
pay him, and pulled out the purse my master had given me, he grew
monstrous civil, and offered to take me across the ferry himself.

Which he did, with one of his men.  And, half-way across, the two set
upon me with one accord, and thought to rob me.  But I, being new to
travel, and so suspecting everybody, was ready for them, and knocked
their heads soundly together for their pains.  I also lightened the boat
of my host's servant, bidding him get to shore some other way.  So my
host, fearing a like ducking for himself, took me over quietly enough,
and never asked a fare.

From there I floundered through the swamps, with the river on my right
hand, till I came to Kingston, where it was not long till I found Master
Udal's house.

He was a little grave man, whom I might have swallowed at a gulp, and
yet he had an air about him I durst not disobey, and an eye which, when
I caught it, made me think of my sins.  He asked me many questions about
Master Walgrave and his manner of life, which I answered plainly, all
except one or more that concerned the secret press in the cellar.

"Your master keepeth one press out of sight?" said he.

"If that be so," said I, "'tis no wonder if I know nothing of it."

He smiled.

"Then, he labours at it himself, without your aid?"

"If you say so, sir, no doubt but he does."

Master Udal smiled again.

"Thou'rt good at a secret, lad, and I'll tempt thee no more."

Whereupon he did what was worse, and began to question me about my own
ways, and that searchingly, so that I was fain to plead weariness, and
asked for my bed.  This was even worse; for, being a lonely man, he had
but one bed in the house, and that was his own.  And that he might have
the more of my company, he came to bed too.

He was a good man--this Master Udal--for he prayed long with me at the
bedside, and talked comfortingly to me about my home, and the snares of
my city life.  But with his grave talk he would not let me rest.  Even
when we lay in bed, and it was too dark to see his face, I felt his eye
upon me still, and was fain to confess myself to him, like a Papist to
his priest.  But when I told him tremblingly that I loved a maiden, he
gave a grunt of displeasure and turned over on his side, and left me in
peace.

And so that fair maiden, little as she knew it, rescued me that night
from a great tribulation; and it were strange if, in gratitude, I did
not dream of her.

Master Udal roused me betimes, and after reading again my master's
letter, asked me, was I a horseman?  I said I could sit a horse with any
'prentice in Finsbury Fields, even at the water leap.  Then he asked,
had I a cloak?  I said, proudly, yes, my dear mistress had given me one,
with which I would not part for two others as good.  He said that was
right, unless Master Penry wished it.

"Who is Master Penry, then?"  I demanded.

"Him you go to see at Oxford--and you are to do everything he tells you,
even if it be to part with your cloak.  Here is a letter to him, at
Saint Alban Hall.  You are to go to him privately, and submit to him in
all things."

It all seemed strange enough to me, but I said I would do as I was
bidden.  For all that, I resolved that if it came to parting with my
brave cloak to a stranger, I would be hard put to it before I suffered
so much wrong to my mistress' goodness.

Then Master Udal instructed me carefully as to the way, showing me by
what roads I should ride, and where I should halt for the night.  He
also cautioned me about speaking to strangers by the way, and bade me
beware lest I fell among thieves.

Then he went to the stable and fetched his horse--a sorry nag, and ill
accustomed to my heavy weight.  Then he fetched me some food to carry in
the saddle-bag; and, after a prayer that God would protect me and
further the business on hand, he let me go.

I was glad to be alone in the sweet summer morning air, with the lark
carolling high above my head, and the new-mown hay scenting the meadows,
and the early sun slanting through the lime trees, and the half-awakened
cattle standing to watch me as I passed.  It was enough to make any
heart glad, and if I myself sang in tune with the birds as I ambled in,
it was because I could not help it.

The road was hard to find betwixt Kingston and Hounslow, for it was
across country, and the narrow lanes twisted and twined so that, had it
not been for the sun, I should soon not have known if I was going north,
south, east, or west.  Except a few yokels trudging to their work, and
now and then a blithe milkmaid calling to her cows, I met no one.  These
looked hard at me, and wondered what such a one as I, in cloak and sword
and hat, wanted there at that hour.  But I let them guess, and pushed
on, along the river's bank, to Twickenham, and then over the wild heath,
and through the woods, till at last I came to Hounslow, where I halted
to rest my beast.

As I was leaving that place, there overtook me an important-looking man
with two men-servants, mounted, following him.  He seemed friendly
disposed and talkative, and as he too was going to Oxford, we agreed to
join company, and fell into conversation.  He asked me my errand and I
replied, truly enough, I went to visit a gentleman at Oxford.  He told
me, with not a little bluster, he too went to wait upon a gentleman at
Oxford, but he guessed the varlet would get little joy out of his visit.

"Why," said I, "are you an officer of the courts of law, or a bailiff?"

"Yes and no," said he.  "I serve a great master, and go to catch a great
rogue."

Then, being warmed by the ale he had had at Hounslow and my questions,
he told me he was no other than the Bishop of London's man; and that
wind had come to his Grace that some evil-disposed persons had been
issuing a wicked and scandalous libel against the Queen and her bishops
and clergy, and that the arch offender in this bad business was known to
be a certain--he would not say who--at Oxford.  He told me how he would
give a finger off his hand to have the rascal laid by the heels, ay, and
the printer too, who had vilely lent himself to the business.  He waxed
so fierce and eloquent in defence of the good bishops, that I promised
him, should my urgent errand in any way permit it, he might count on me
to assist him in his righteous hue and cry.  For I loathed all that set
itself up to vex our gracious Queen and the peaceful order of her
kingdom.  The man commended my loyalty, and we talked of other matters--
he doing the most of it--till we came to Colnbrook, where, finding my
nag slow, and his business being very urgent, he left me and rode
forward; appointing to meet me two days hence at the inn at Iffley,
should I still be of a mind to do him and the bishop a service.

All this talk had made me uneasy, for he had hinted broadly that a close
watch was being kept on all disorderly printers; and I, remembering my
master's press in the cellar, hoped no suspicion might attach to him,
and resolved to warn him when I returned home.

From Colnbrook I rode solitary in the heat of the day.  So hot was it
that I was tempted to take off my cloak and lay it across the saddle in
front of me.  It was my vanity and the pride of being seen in so brave a
garment that hindered me; and it fell out well that it was so.  For just
over the heath, as you come upon Topley, there sprang out upon me a
rider, who without any parley let fly at me with a pistol; and but that
the ball, badly aimed, glanced off from the stiff padding of my cloak, I
had not been here to tell this tale.

Before he could load again I spurred my horse, hoping to close with him.
But the wretched jade was no match in pace for his, and he got away.
But not before I had let fly my club at him, from twelve yards away, and
dealt him a crack on the cheek that should have caused him to bear me in
mind for a week.  I expected him back after that, but being dazed by the
blow, and seeing that I was not the gentleman he took me for, he spurred
off; and I, waiting only to pick up my club and make sure that the
bullet had done me no harm, did the same, and rode on to Maidenhead.

Here an odd adventure befel me; for, going to the inn of the place where
I meant to lie that night, I found it in possession of a roystering crew
of gallants, who sat and quaffed their sack and sang lustily, roaring
and quarrelling enough to deafen a man.  When, by dint of hard pushing,
I had made myself a seat at the table and called for my supper--for I
was hungry--they gave over their wrangling and began to look hard at me.
There was much whispering among them, and one said:

"I know the rogue in spite of his cloak.  Call me an ass if there be not
a shaven crown under that hat of his."

"If you mean by that," said another cavalier, "that he's a Jesuit--"

Here the company took up the word.  "A Jesuit!--a Jesuit!" they cried,
and at the sudden accusation I turned crimson and blushed like a girl.

"Smelt out?" cried the company.  "To the gallows with him!"  Then it
seemed to me to be time to go.

"Who called Jesuit?" said I, pulling out my sword.

They laughed at this, and one of them cried:

"If you be not, drink to the Queen, where you stand, and confound her
enemies!"

I took off my hat, that they might see I wore no monkish tonsure, and
drank.

"That shows nothing," cried another.  "They might curse the Pope
himself, and yet be all the better Jesuits."

"A crew of cowards," said another, "who never dare be what they seem or
seem what they are--"

"Then," said I, "if that be so, I can easily prove I am a true and loyal
subject of the Queen.  Let who will come on, two at a time, and take
back his lie at the point of my sword."  And I put my back up to the
wall and cast my cloak back over my shoulder.

Whereat they laughed again, and he who had spoken first said:

"If I doubted it before, I am sure of it now, for no one but a Jesuit
could feign a swagger like that.  Come, let's hang him and have done
with him."

"Come on," said I.  "I tell you I'm no Jesuit, but a loyal London
'prentice, on a message for my master to Oxford.  If you hold it English
that twenty men should set upon one, then--"

"What! a plague on you!" cried my opponent, before I could finish.  "Why
did you not say what you were before?  We have something better to do
than hang 'prentices.  Get you gone--a stick to your back is what you
want, unmannerly dog."

"Fetch it then," said I, "for before I leave here I shall finish my
supper, and if you like not my company, you may go elsewhere."

I think they were abashed at that, for they tried to laugh it off, and
go on with their carouse.  Indeed I think they meant only to frighten me
all the while, so perhaps I was a fool to take it all in earnest.
However that be, I finished my supper and bade them all good-night;
whereat they laughed again.  Then, as an hour of daylight remained, I
called for my horse and resolved to ride to the next inn and lie there
for the night.

I had no cause to complain of the company here (it was the house midway
betwixt Maidenhead and Henley, as you come to Bisham), for I had the
place to myself.  Nor did I wonder at that when I saw the pig-sty of an
inn which it was.  The landlord, a villainous-looking rogue, demanded to
finger my money before he would admit me; and as for my horse, I had to
see to him myself, for there was no one about the place to do it for me.
However, a night's lodging was all I wanted, and, having brought away
the stable key in my pocket, I pulled my bed across the chamber floor,
wrapped myself up in my cloak, and slept like the seven sleepers.

The man eyed me surlily enough in the morning, and told me, if I doubted
his honesty, I might go and lie somewhere else next time; which I
promised to do, for I guessed when he talked of honesty that he had
tried to steal my horse in the night, and being baulked of that, had had
it in his mind to rob me.  We parted in dudgeon; but I felt well out of
that place with my purse in my pocket and my horse under me.

As I rode through Henley, who should overtake me but a troop of
horsemen, among whom I recognised not a few of the roysterers who had
used me so scurvily at Maidenhead the night before.  I drew aside to let
them pass, for I wanted none of their company.  But one--he who had
voted to hang me--came up in a friendly way.

"Come, lad," said he, "look not glum; our gallants will have their
jest."

"'Tis no jest to call a loyal subject of the Queen a Jesuit, still less
to hang him," said I.

"Well, well," said he, "next time we'll call thee Puritan and burn
thee--that will make the balance straight.  Meanwhile join us, and scour
that frown off thy visage," and he clapped me on the back with a whack
which made my nag prick up her ears and jump a foot off the ground.

It took me some time to follow his last advice; but as the fellow seemed
honest, though a fool, and he and his comrades made little more pace
than I did, I made the best of what I could not help, and ambled beside
him at the tail of the troop.

Then he told me that they were going to Wales to get together provisions
for an expedition to Ireland, and offered me good pay and plenty of
knocks if I would only join them.

"We shall have a merry time of it," said he, "with a merry man for
captain."

At this I pricked my ears.

"What is his name?" asked I.

"What I say: Captain Merriman, a gallant officer, and a desperate man of
war."

"I know he is that," said I, with the blood rushing to my temples.

"You know him, then?" said the man, "and you will join us.  Ho! ho!  Who
would thought I could find him such a recruit?"

"Before I serve under your Captain Merriman," said I, losing temper,
"you may do what you promised last night, and hang me up on the nearest
tree."

He stared at me when I said that.

"Why, what mean you?"

"That is my business," said I, shortly; "but if you would take him a
message, you may tell him there is as good duck-weed in Ireland as ever
there is in Finsbury Fields, and that Humphrey Dexter says so."

The man burst into a laugh.

"Did ever I see such blustering roarers as you city 'prentices?  I
warrant you Captain Merriman will shake in his shoes when I tell him.  I
do not know if I should not run you through the body for talking thus of
a gallant gentleman; but I'll spare thee, Humphrey, this time: 'tis too
hot to fight."

"Not for me," said I, "if that is what you mean."

He laughed again at that.

"Come along," said he, clapping me again on the back, "join us, and you
shall tell Captain Merriman all about the duck-weed yourself; and a
proud man he will be, I warrant you."

I was sorry now I had bragged, for nothing but contempt came from it, as
indeed, had I been a little wiser, I might have known.  So I said no
more about the matter, and let my comrade talk, which he did to his
heart's content, telling me of the battles he had fought in, and the
spoils he had taken, and the triumphs he had seen.

Thus talking, we beguiled the time till we came to where we had to part
company; for the troop went by way of Abingdon, whereas I, following
Master Udal's directions, continued on the east bank of the river to
Oxford.  He bade me think over what he had said about joining the wars,
and told me where he might be found during the next week or two.

"Ask for Tom Price," said he; "they all know me.  And on the day you're
Lord Mayor of London, which I take it is not far hence, find me a humble
seat below the salt at your lordship's table; and so farewell."

I felt it lonely enough after my company had left; besides which, I
clean lost my way, and was forced at last to seek the river and guide
myself by that.  Heavy work it was; for the river's bank was swampy and
often impassable with bushes and woods, so that I had to go miles out of
my way to circumvent them, leading my horse by the hand.  At last, when
I hardly knew where I was, night fell; and worn-out with weariness and
hunger, I made for the first house I could see--which chanced to be an
inn--and resolved to go no farther that night.

Had I gone on, I am certain of one thing, which is, that this veritable
history would never have been written.  For I should not then have met
the wild person who, just as I stood unharnessing my nag at the door,
dashed past me and flung himself into the house.



CHAPTER FOUR.

HOW I MET A RUNAWAY SCHOLAR.

As I entered the poor kitchen of the inn--for it was a sorry shed
altogether--there rose to meet me a figure which, if I live to
Methuselah's age, I shall not easily forget.  He was tall and had the
limbs of a giant.  His hair was tawny and inclined to red, and hung in
disorderly waves on his shoulders.  His raiment--for he had flung his
scholar's cap and robe to a corner of the room--was poor and ragged, and
seemed scarcely to hang together on his brawny back.  His arms were long
and nervous, and the hands at the end of them twitched uneasily even
while the rest of his body was motionless.  His carriage was erect and
martial, and you knew not whether to admire most the weight and solidity
of the man as he stood still, or the tiger-like spring in every limb
when he moved.

Yet it was not one of these things which made me stand almost in awe as
I saw him.  It was his face, which, if ever a man's face deserved the
name, was beautiful.  I cannot explain why; for I have seen features
more finely carved and better proportioned in faces which never seemed
to me so beautiful as his.  I have seen more strength of mouth, more
light of eyes, many a time, and yet never looked twice; I have seen
faces as noble which never struck me as his did.  I know not how it was.
I think it was the expression which moulded all his face into a look,
partly wild, partly noble, partly sad, and wholly gentle.  For as you
watched it, it changed like an April day from cloud to fair, from
thunder to lightning, from night to day; yet whatever came or went, the
look of a gentle man remained.

Man, did I say?  He was scarcely my senior, even if he was my equal in
years; and his beardless chin and the boyish glow on his cheek made him
seem younger than he was.

But why all this picture-drawing of a stray Oxford student, whom, while
I talk about him, I keep standing in front of me on the floor of that
poor kitchen?  You shall hear.

It was not to do me obeisance that he rose as I entered.  His dirk was
drawn and his face was thunderous as he took a step forward and spoke.

"I want you not!  So leave me."

My Lord Burleigh himself could not have spoken the words more royally,
although he would have spoken them with less music and more of an
English accent in his voice.

Now, moved as I was by the look of my companion, it offended me to hear
a loyal London 'prentice talked to thus like a dog, or, worse, like the
drawer of the inn.

"By your leave," said I, and it was not often I said as much to any man,
"unless you be the landlord of the place, I have as good a right to be
here as you."

"Then," said he, solemnly and, as I thought, sadly, "guard yourself."  I
whipped out my sword.  In my boastfulness, I thought I had too great an
advantage with my long weapon against his short and not too highly-
tempered blade, and I resolved with myself not to run him through if I
could otherwise satisfy him.  But my tune changed as soon as we closed.
I could do nothing.  My fine thrusts and parries wherewith I was wont to
set Finsbury Fields a-gaping all went for nothing.  He got in at me over
my guard, under my guard, beside my guard, and through my guard.  Nor
could I even do myself justice.  For while I fenced, I was fascinated by
the flashing of his eyes and the noble gracefulness of his every motion.
In two minutes he had me disarmed, pinned up against the wall, as
helpless as a silly ox in the grip of a tiger.

It mortified me as much as anything to find that when he had me thus at
his mercy he dropped me half disdainfully, half pitifully, and put his
dirk back into its sheath.

"Will you go now?"

"No," said I, doggedly.  For so chapfallen was I that I wished nothing
better than that he should do his worst with me.

At that he looked at me in solemn perplexity, and I expected to see his
hand back at his girdle.  But, to my confusion, he only shrugged his
shoulders and turned away.

This completed my humbling; for no man had ever disdained me thus
before.  I might easily have reached my sword, which lay at my feet, and
run him through before he could face round; yet he did not even deign to
notice me, and walked slowly to the fire, where he sat with his back to
me.

I could stand it no longer, and crossed the room to face him.

"You have beaten me," said I--and the words were hard to say--"take my
sword, for, by heaven, I will never wear it again, and fare you well."

The cloud on his face broke into sunlight as he sprang to his feet, and,
taking my arm, said--

"No.  Stay here and let us be friends.  I am too poor to offer thee
supper, but here's my hand."

I took his hand like one in a dream.  I could not help it, strange as it
seemed.

"Sir," said I, "whoever you be, I strike hands on one condition only,
that is, that you sup to-night with me.  I'm a London 'prentice, but I
know when I meet my match."

What that had to do with his supping with me, I know not; but I was so
flurried with my late defeat and my enemy's sudden friendliness, that I
scarcely knew what I said.

"If that be the price, I must even pay it," said he, solemnly, "so long
as we be friends."

So I called to the man of the house to bring us food quickly, and, while
it was coming, set myself to know more of my new comrade.

Yet when I came to question him I felt abashed.  For he looked so grave
and noble that, despite his ragged clothes, it seemed presumptuous to
ask him who he was.  While I doubted how to begin, he spared me the
trouble.

"Are you going to Oxford?" said he.

"I am," said I.  "I was to reach there this night, but lost my way; and
even yet do not know how near I am."

"Not an hour from the cursed place," said he, giving his student's cap,
which lay on the floor at his feet, a little kick.

"Then it agrees not with you?" said I.

"Agrees!" said he, and then dropped silent, far more eloquently than if
he had spoken a volume.

"Pray, sir," said I, after an awkward pause, "do you know one Master
Penry of Saint Alban Hall?"

He laughed at that.

"The Welshman?  Verily, I know him.  What do you want with him?"

"I am to deliver him a letter from my master.  Can you take me to him?"

"No," said my companion, "for I shall never enter Oxford again."

"Is your term done, then?"  I asked.

"For me it is," said he.  "I have been here two months, and will have no
more of it."

"But are you free to leave?"  I asked--for my curiosity was roused.

"Free!" said he: "I am here, that is enough.  If my tutor come after me,
there will be two men who will never see Oxford again."

I pitied his tutor, whoever he was, when he said that.

"But where are you going then?"  I asked.

"To-night I shall lie here.  The man of the place is my friend, and will
shelter me, though I have nothing to pay him.  To-morrow I shall take
the road."

Here our supper came in: a fine big trout from the river, and a dish
which mine host called mutton, but which I smelt to be venison.

It smote me to the heart to mark the struggle in my comrade's face to
keep down the ravenous joy which for a moment hailed the coming in of
these good things.  But the ecstasy lasted only a moment, and when I
bade him fall to, he said indifferently he had no appetite and wanted
nothing.

"But it was a bargain," said I.

So he took a small helping.  It plainly cut him to the quick to receive
hospitality from a 'prentice, and he would, I think, as soon have
starved, but for his promise.

I feigned not to notice what he took; yet I could not help marking the
hungry way in which he devoured what was on his platter.  Then when it
was done, he rose and went to his seat at the fireplace, while I
finished my supper at the table.

Before I had done, I filled my cup, as was my wont, and drank to Her
Majesty, bidding my guest do the same.

He came gravely to the table at that, and filled a mug of ale to the
brim.  "Here's to my Queen," said he.

This struck me as odd, for his tone and manner were as if he were
drinking to another toast than mine.  Yet I did not dare to question him
about it, and only hoped so noble a youth was one of Her Majesty's loyal
servants.

Our host had but one small room with a single bed in it to offer us,
which accordingly we shared for the night.  Nor was it long before we
were each sound asleep, forgetful of our troubles and quarrels and
weariness.

Before we fell over, however, my comrade said:

"When go you into Oxford?"

"To-morrow, betimes," said I, "for my message is urgent."

"You will have trouble enough," said he.  "There is little love between
town and gown there, and unless you like knocks, you had better send
your letter by the hand of one who does."

"I mind no knocks," said I, groaning a little at the memory of some I
had received that very evening; "besides, I am bound to give my letter
by my own hand."

"Then," said he, "take my cap and gown: they are no use to me and may be
a passport to you.  Lend me your cloak in exchange.  It will serve to
hide me, while it would but betray you as an intruder inside Oxford."

"This cloak," said I, "is the gift of my dear mistress in London.  But
perhaps your advice is good.  I will go into Oxford in a scholar's garb,
and you meanwhile shall shelter here in my cloak till I return about
noon.  Is it a bargain?"

"As you please," said he, and fell asleep.

I was the more pleased with this exchange, as I remembered what Master
Udal had said concerning the fancy Master Penry might take for my brave
cloak.  It would be safer here, protecting my comrade, than flaunting in
the eyes of the ravenous youth of Oxford.

When I arose next morning with the sun, my bedfellow still slept
heavily.  I could not forbear taking a look at him as he lay there.  His
face in sleep, with all the care and unrest out of it, looked like that
of some boyish, resolute Greek divinity.  His arm was flung carelessly
behind his head, and the tawny hair which strayed over the pillow served
as a setting for his fine-cut features.

But I had no time for admiring Greek divinities just then; and slipping
on the scholar's robe and cap, which, to my thinking, made me a
monstrous fine fellow, I left my own cloak at his bedside, and, taking
my letter, started on my errand, afoot.

In the clear morning I could plainly see the towers of the city ahead of
me before I had been long on the road.  But it is one thing to see and
another to touch.  The inn where I had lain was at the river's bank, and
yet no road seemed to lead to it or from it.  As for mounting the river
bank, that was impossible, by reason of the thickets which crowded down
to the water's edge.  I had to tramp inland, through marsh and quagmire,
in which more than once I thought to end my days, till, after much
searching, I hit upon the road which led to the city.  Before I entered
it the bells were clanging from a score of steeples, and many a hurrying
form, clad like myself, crossed my path.

As I gained the east bridge, there was no small tumult in progress.  For
a handful of scholars, on their way to morning lecture, had fallen foul
of a handful of yeomen bound for the fields, and were stoutly disputing
the passage.  When I appeared, I was claimed at once by the scholars as
one of them, and willy-nilly, had to throw in my lot with them.  The
fight was a sharp one, for the yeomen had their sticks and shares and
sickles, and laid stoutly about, whereas the scholars were unarmed, all
except a few.  At last, when two of our side had been pitched head first
over the bridge, our leaders seemed inclined to parley; but the
countrymen, puffed up with success, and calling to mind, perhaps, some
old grievance, called, "No quarter!  To the river with them, everyone,"
and closed in.

Then the scholars had to fight for their lives; and I, forgetting I was
not really one of them, girt my gown about me, and, shouting to them to
follow me, charged the varlets.  They were sorry then they had not ended
the matter sooner.  Two or three of them went over the bridge to look
for our comrades beneath, others were soundly cudgelled with their own
sticks, while our fists slowly did the rest.  All of a sudden up rode
two or three horsemen, at whose coming our men showed signs of panic,
while the townsmen cheered loudly and made a fresh stand.  This vexed me
sorely, for I had supposed the battle at an end.  Wherefore, I made for
the chief horseman, and, putting out all my strength, pulled him off his
horse.  Scarcely had I done so when my comrades behind raised a shout of
"'Tis the Mayor!--'tis the Mayor!  Fly!--fly!" and off they made,
dragging me with them.  To think that I, a loyal London apprentice,
should have lived to assault a mayor!  But there was no time for excuses
or reproaches.  The citizens were at our heels shouting and threatening,
and as they followed, the whole town turned out in hue and cry.  One by
one the gownsmen dodged like rabbits into their holes, leaving me, who
knew nothing of the city, almost alone.  At last the enemy were almost
up to me, and I was expecting every moment to be taken and perhaps
hanged, when, as good luck would have it, just as I turned a corner,
there faced me a wall not so high but that a good leaper might get over
it.  Over I scrambled just as the pack in full cry rushed round the
corner.

Then I laughed as I heard their yapping, and grumbling, and questioning
what had become of me.  But I gave them no time to find out, for,
crossing the garden into which I had fallen, I quickly slipped out at
the gate into a fair cloistered square where, adjusting my battle-
stained gown, I marched boldly up to the house at the gate and knocked.

A porter came at my summons and demanded, surlily enough, what I wanted.

"I am a fresh man here," said I, "and have lost my way.  I pray you
direct me to Saint Alban Hall."

"Saint Alban Hall?" said he.  "Art thou a scholar of Saint Alban Hall?"

"No," said I, "but I bear a message to one there, Master Penry by name."

"How comes it," demanded the porter, who, by the tone of him, might have
been the chancellor himself, "that you wear that gown, sirrah?"

"That is my business," said I, seeing it was no profit to talk civilly
to him, "and if you want not to see your neck wrung, give over
questions, and tell me where is Saint Alban Hall."

He grew red in the face as I gripped his arm, which he could by no means
get free till I let him.

"This is Saint Alban Hall," said he, "and Master Penry lives over my
lodging."

Then I thought it better to be civil to the fellow, as he guessed I had
no business there in a college gown.  So I gave him a groat, and bad him
take me up forthwith.

Master Penry was a lean, wrathful-visaged Welshman, with deep grey eyes,
and a large forehead, and a mass of straight black hair down his neck.
As I entered his room, which was disordered and dirty, he was pacing to
and fro, talking or praying aloud in his native tongue.  He let me stand
there a minute or two, amazed at his jargon, and scarcely knowing
whether I had lit upon a sane man or not.  Then he stopped suddenly in
front of me and scanned me.

"Well?" said he, in good English.

"Are you Master Penry?"  I asked.

"I am.  You have a message for me?"

"I have; from Master Walgrave.  Here it is," said I, putting the letter
into his hand.

He tore it open and read it eagerly, and, as he did so, his face relaxed
into a grim smile.

"That is well, so far," said he.  Then, looking hard at me, he added,
"Have you ridden from London in that disguise?"

"No," said I, "this gown was lent me by a friend to protect me against
annoyance from the wild men of the town."

His face suddenly turned pale and passionate.

"Then where is the cloak your master speaks of in this letter?"

"The cloak!"  I knew from the very first there would be trouble about
that, and I was glad now I had left it behind in the safe keeping of my
comrade at the inn.

"What is my cloak to you?" said I, not relishing the tone of his voice,
"I have given it away to my friend."

"Fool and jackass!" said he, gnashing his teeth, "do you know you have
ruined me and your master by this?"

"No, I do not," said I, "and as for the foul names you call me, take
them back on the instant, or I swear I will ram them down your mouth!"

He took no notice whatever of my wrath, but went on, breaking in on his
speech every now and then with Welsh words which I took to be curses.

"You must get it back at any price," said he.  "Lose not a moment!
Where is this friend?  Who is he?  If he resist you, you must slay him,
so as you get it back.  If it fall into the hands of an enemy, you and
I, ay and your master, and all that belongs to you will perish.  Ah, the
folly of the man to trust such a missive to this thick-headed blunderer!
What time lost, what labour wasted, what peril run, what ruin on our
holy cause!"

I was well out of temper by this time, and, but that he looked so
miserable and ill-fed, I would have rattled his bones a bit.  At last:

"That cloak," said he, coming up to me, "contained papers sent by your
master to me; which, if they be found on any one's person, mean Tyburn.
Do you understand that?"

"Yes," said I, beginning to see the drift of his coil, "and if you had
told me so at first, I had been half-way back to get it by this time.
Heaven is my witness, you are welcome to the cloak if that is what it
contains; and I doubt not my friend will give it up to do you a
pleasure."

"Hasten!" cried he, with tears of vexation in his eyes, "there is not a
moment to be lost--nay, I will go with you.  Where did you leave it?
Come!"

"Nay," said I, remembering it for the first time, "I am not very sure
where it was.  'Twas at a river-side inn, about four miles from here."

"And who is your friend?  Is he a true man?"

"I know not that either," said I.  "He is a valiant man, and hath a dirk
at his girdle; and I pity the man who tries to take the cloak from him
by force."

Master Penry made another speech to himself in Welsh.

"Fool!" exclaimed he, half blubbering.  "This precious missive you leave
at an inn you know not where; with a man you know not whom; and yet your
master speaks of you as a trusty lad.  Bah!  Lead on!"

I swallowed my wrath and obeyed him.  He stalked impatiently at my side,
saying nothing, but urging me forward so that I could scarcely keep pace
with him.  I was in luck, in one way, to have his escort; for as I came
near the East Bridge, there lurked not a few of the townsmen who had
been in the fight when I assaulted the Mayor.  Seeing me with Master
Penry, who, I suppose, was a man of some standing, they did not look
twice at me; else I might have been caught, and put to rest my limbs in
the cage.  When we had crossed the bridge, and were in the country, my
companion suddenly stopped.

"This friend of yours," said he, "with the dirk in his girdle.  Was he a
scholar?"

"He lent me this gown," said I.

"An Irishman?"

"I know not.  He spoke good English, with a foreign trip of the tongue."

"A great big boy, with wild fair hair, and hands that never are still?"

"The very man.  You know him?"

"Do I know him?  For two months I have endured the pains of the lost
through him.  A wild, untameable savage, subject to no laws, a heathen,
a butcher, a scoffer at things holy, an idler, a highwayman, a traitor,
a rebel, an Irish Papist wolf-hound!  Do I know my own pupil?  And--oh
my God!--is it he who has the coat?  Oh, we are doubly lost!  Knaves,
fools, all conspire to ruin us!"

I let him run on, for he was like one demented.  But you may suppose I
opened my eyes as I heard this brave character of my new friend.

"Your pupil, is he?" said I at last; "then I counsel you to stay where
you are; for he will assuredly eat you alive if he gets you."

The Welshman paid no head to this warning, but rushed on, jabbering in
Welsh to himself, and groaning, ay, and even sobbing now and then in his
excitement.

At last, after an hour's hard work, we came to where I had found the
road that morning.  Then, for another hour, I dragged him through the
swamps and marshes.  His strength had begun to fail him long ere we
reached the river's bank; and he was fain, when at last we felt solid
earth under our feet, to cry a halt.

"I must rest for one moment," said he, puffing and panting and clutching
at his side in a way that made me sorry for him.  Then he fell on his
knees and prayed in his own tongue, and before he was done, sunk half-
fainting on a tree-trunk.

"Master Penry," said I, helping him from the ground, "you are not fit to
go on.  I pray you, let me go alone.  This pupil of yours is my friend,
and will give me the cloak.  Stay here, unless you would spoil all; for
assuredly if he see you, he will turn at bay and yield nothing.  The inn
is but a mile from here.  In less than an hour I will be back with the
cloak, that I vow."

He had no strength in him to protest.  So I left him there and ran on
towards the inn.



CHAPTER FIVE.

HOW I PARTED WITH MY CLOAK.

My mind was all in confusion as I hurried forward to the river-side inn.
Everything seemed to be going wrong with me, and I wished heartily I
was back in London with my fellow 'prentices, and my kind mistress, and
the sweet Jeannette.  They, at least, believed in me; but here, everyone
with one consent conspired to tell me I was but a fool.  I had made
myself a laughing-stock at Maidenhead; I had been pinned up against the
wall, by a boy my own age, in this place; I had assaulted a Mayor at
Oxford; I had parted with my cloak, which contained life and death in
the lining of it, to a stranger; and more than all, I had given my love
to a fellow who, if the Welshman was right, was a horrible traitor and
Papist!  A fine piece of work, verily, and little wonder if my conceit
was somewhat abated after it all!

Yet, as I ran on, I thought more about my wild friend at the inn, than
about any one else.  I could hardly believe him to be a rogue; although
all that the Welshman said of him tallied with my own observation.  Nay,
more, to my dismay, I found by my heart that even were he all the rogue
he was painted, I could scarcely bring myself to like him the less.

"At least," thought I, "if he be a knave, he is an honest one; and my
cloak will be safe with him."

As I came to the inn, which I had scarcely yet seen by daylight, it
seemed gayer and more bustling that I had found it last night.  Three
brave horses stood saddled and bridled at the door, and voices of good
cheer from within showed me that mine host was having some little custom
for his sack.  I wondered if my solemn scholar was of the party, or
whether, the better to avoid detection, he still lay abed.

As I entered, I recognised the chief of the four men who sat at the
table as my friend the Bishop's man, whom I had met on the road two days
ago, but whom, as well as my promise to meet him to-day, I had since
clean forgotten.  He hailed me gaily, as if he expected me.

"Welcome, lad; you are a man of your word.  I knew you would come.  Come
and join us, there is brave sport afoot."

I coloured up, to be thus commended for what I did not merit.

"Indeed," said I, "I--I am glad to meet you again, but--but (how I
stammered), just now I am looking for my friend."

"What!  Have you not done your errand?" said he.  "You told me it was in
Oxford."

"It was.  I have done it--but I left a friend here.  Mine host," said I,
turning to the man of the place, "is my comrade astir yet?"

The host crammed his apron in his mouth to keep in a laugh.

"Astir!  Sir Ludar astir!  I warrant thee half the bucks in Shotover
Wood are astir too before now."

"What!" said I, my face falling suddenly, "is he gone then?"

"An hour since; and by your leave, young sir," added mine host, "I would
take leave to remind your grandeur that the score of last night's
supper, and a trifle my lord took for his breakfast, with the shoeing
and meat of the horse, and the price of your night's lodging, awaits
your noble acquittance."

"Gone!" cried I, not heeding all the rest.  "And did he leave aught for
me?"

"I doubt not he left his blessing, but nothing else."

"But my cloak, he had my cloak."

"If he have it not still, ay, and the nag too, it will be because he has
met a stronger man than ever I saw yet on earth," said mine host.

"But the cloak!" roared I, "that cloak had papers in it; it was--"

Here the Bishop's man put down his mug and pricked up his ears.

"Which way did he go?" cried I.  "Saddle me my horse.  I must overtake
him or all is lost."

"Papers?" said the Bishop's man.  "What sort of papers, prithee?"

"I know not," said I.  "Oh, that cursed cloak!"

"Harkee, my lad," said the man sternly, "answer me two questions, if you
will."

He laid hold of my arm, and looked so menacing that I was fairly taken
aback.

"And if I do not," said I, as I began suddenly to see what it all led
to.

"Then in the Queen's name I shall know what to do with you," said he,
beckoning to his three men, who rose and approached me.

I was fairly in a corner now, for a man who held the Queen's warrant was
not one lightly to be resisted.  Yet what could I tell him?

"Let me hear your questions," said I, as civilly as I could, and edging
a little towards the door, "perhaps I can answer them."

"That's a wise lad," said he, mollified, "I know you are but a tool--
men, stand back there--I blame you not for doing your duty, but you must
tell me here, the name of the man, your master, who sent you this
errand, and the name of him to whom you bore it."

"I can tell you neither," said I.

He turned to his men, but before they could rise, I had rushed to the
door and was outside.  A key stood in the outside of the lock, which
mine host used to turn and take with him when business called him to
leave his inn empty.  I had just time to turn this and vault on one of
the three horses, when the window was flung open and the leader of the
band sprang on to the casement.

But he was too late; for before he could level his musket at me, I was
twenty yards away at a gallop, leading by the bridle the two spare
horses which had stood at the door beside the one I rode.

The shot, badly aimed, whistled past my ear, and served to urge on the
horses to a wilder pace, so that, before even the party was outside,
hallooing after me, I was a furlong off, plunging deep into the wood.

I had no time to think if I had done well or ill, or what the upshot of
it all was like to be.  Time enough for that when I had won clear.  The
led horses, after their first fright, jibbed at the reins and struggled
to get free.  So, as they checked my speed, I let them go, and saw them
plunge away among the trees, no easy capture for their lawful owners.
Meanwhile, I dashed forward whithersoever the horse took me.  I
remember, even amid my panic, what a delight it was to sit astride of so
noble a beast, who seemed to scorn my weight, and skim the earth as
lightly as if he carried a child.  Had it been my own sorry nag I should
long since have been by the heels.

Once clear of the wood I suddenly sighted Oxford towers to my left, and
found myself on the road by which I had passed but an hour ago with the
angry Welshman.  I had forgotten him, and 'twas well for him that I had.

I had no mind to put myself again within reach of his worship, the Mayor
of Oxford, and his merry men; so I tugged my right rein and kept my
horse's head turned to the wooded hills northward.  There, thought I, I
can at least find time to draw breath and determine what must be done
next.  To the forest I sped, then, marvelling at the pace of my brave
horse, and wondering if the Bishop's man was yet on the road at my
heels.

On the steeper ground my horse slackened a bit, but I urged him forward
till we were deep in the wood, with a choice of four or five paths, any
of which led, heaven knows where.  Here I let him stand and get his
wind, while I turned over in my mind what should be my best course.

While I was debating, to my surprise, my horse pricked up his ears and
gave a loud neigh, which was answered from no great distance by another.
At first I supposed his companions had followed us, or that our
pursuers were nearer than I reckoned for.  But, on listening, I
perceived that the strange horse was ahead of us, not behind.  I
therefore moved slowly forward in the direction of the sound.  What was
my surprise when I saw my own poor nag tethered to a tree, with my
cloak--the cause of all this trouble--laid carelessly over his back.

Master Penry's wild pupil was nowhere near, yet I scarce gave him a
thought at the time, so overjoyed was I to recover my long-lost prize.
I sprang from my borrowed horse, letting him stray where he would, and
fell upon the garment like a mother on her lost child, except that I,
having taken it to my arms, whipped out my knife and proceeded to rip it
up from top to bottom.

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.

I paused not to shout, but gathered together all my powers, and let out
with my oars until I thought they would crack.  For half-an-hour I could
not say whether I was gaining on her, or my waterman on me.  At length I
resolved to risk the short delay of a signal.  So I stood in my boat
waving the cloak over my head and shouting "Halloo!" with all the breath
in my body.  I durst not wait more than a moment to watch for a reply.
None came, but instead, the yards bellied with the wind.  I flung myself
with a groan on my seat, and took back my oars.  Already the waterman
was within shouting distance, and his comrades not far behind.  But I
heeded not their cries, and plunged my oars once again in bitter chase.
It was long before I durst look round.  Then, to my surprise, I saw her
standing away in to the Essex shore with all her sails full of wind.

Then all seemed lost, till I reflected that she must come back for
another tack before she could clear the bend.  If so, I was safe.  So I
kept steadily on, scarcely holding my own with my pursuers, until at
length, to my joy, I saw her put about and bear down full upon me.  It
was an anxious time as she came up.  No one on board, it was clear,
guessed who I might be; nor, I think, did any one perceive me as I lay
there, except the man at the prow, who, seeing me resolved to be run
down, left me to take my will.  By this time my pursuer was a hundred
yards away, thinking himself sure of me at last, and saving his breath.
It was a race whether he or the _Misericorde_ would be upon me the
sooner, but I settled that.  For, as the ship came up, slowing towards
the end of her tack, I took a few strokes out to meet her, and then
turning my boats' head quickly slipped close under.  I had already
marked a rope that hung from the poop within reach, and on this, when
the moment came, I ventured my all.  Taking the cloak over my shoulder,
and casting away my oars, I sprang to my feet, and gave one leap which
sent my empty boat staggering back into her owner's hands, while it left
me hanging 'twixt heaven and earth.

To haul myself aboard was the work of a minute; even as I did so, I
could see out of the corner of my eye my pursuer staring round at me,
amazed, while he reached out to secure his truant craft.  But that was
all I saw of him, for next moment I stood on deck half-fainting, face to
face with Ludar and the maiden and a stranger.



CHAPTER TEN.

HOW WE SAILED WITH A POET OF THE FIRST WATER.

Ludar told me, when presently I had revived enough to hear his story,
that when the tide turned and I did not appear, the Frenchman laughed
and bade them haul the anchor and thank Heaven they were rid of a thief.
"Whereat," said Ludar, "we came to words, and the maiden took your part
and besought the fellow to wait a half-hour.  But he would hear none of
it.  He said he was master here, and, if we liked not the ship, we might
go out of it.  Indeed," added he, "he had a mind, he said, to put us all
out and be rid of so ill a company.  Then there was nothing left but to
let him have his will, and we sailed.  Yet I was not surprised to see
you back."

"And she--she did not deem me a traitor?"  I asked.

"That maiden," said Ludar, gravely, "knows not what traitor means."

Whereat I felt partly humbled, partly comforted.

"Yes," said Ludar, "I am glad to have you back, Humphrey, for this
voyage bodes uneasily."

"How do you mean?"  I asked.

"Our messmates," said he (and then I noticed that he wore a sailor's
jacket), "are a scurvy crew, as you will presently discover.  The
captain already repents that he has taken us.  The old nurse is hard to
please."  Here he sighed.  "The serving man is a fool.  And the
stranger--"

"Ay, what of him?  Who is he?"

"He is a half-witted spark, a fugitive from justice, and, to boot, an
impudent coxcomb whom I have had ten minds already to pitch over the
ship's side.  He was hidden here on board before we came, having killed
a man at Court, he brags, and seeking shelter in Scotland till the storm
be past.  But here he is."

The stranger was a slim, well-shaped youth, with a simpering lip, and
dainty ringlets descending to his shoulders.  He was dressed
extravagantly even for the land, and for the sea ridiculously.  His
doublet was of satin, bravely slashed and laced, and puffed to the size
of a globe on either thigh.  His hose were of crimson silk, gaily tied
with points and knots.  His shirt was of the same hue, with a short
taffeta cloak over, bound at the neck by a monstrous ruff, out of which
his face looked like a calf's head from a dish of trimmings.  To crown
all, a white plume waved in his hat, while the rapier at his waist was
caught up jauntily behind him, so that the point and the hilt lay on a
level at either hip.  His face was both cheerful and weak; and, as he
strutted up to where Ludar and I stood, his gait reminded me much of a
chanticleer amidst his spouses.

He was delivering himself of some poetic rapture, addressed, as it
seemed, to the mud banks of the Essex shore, and feigned to perceive
neither Ludar nor me till he came upon us.

"So," said he then, eyeing me, "here is our Flying Dutchman, our bolt
out of the blue, our dragon's tooth turned to man.  And, by my sword, a
pretty fellow too.  Count me as thy patron, my Hollander, and if, as I
judge by thy face, thou hast a tooth for the honey of Parnassus his
garden, and the dainty apples of the Muses' orchard, thou shalt not
starve verily.  To be brief, I favour thee therefore, thy fortune is
made."

I was bewildered enough by this speech, not a tithe of which could I
understand.  I took it ill to be called Dutchman, and dragon's tooth;
nor, albeit I was a printer's 'prentice, did I know what he meant by
Parnassus.  Still, as he seemed friendly disposed, I answered:

"I thank you."

"Thank not me," said he, raising his hand.  "Let not the groping man
thank the lamp, nor the briar the brook.  Thank the sun whence the lamp
hath his light, and the ocean to whom the brook oweth his waters.  Thank
that incomparable paragon, that consummate swan, that pearl of all
perfection, my mistress, of whose brightness I am but the mirror and
medium."

"Pardon me, sir," said I, feeling very foolish to comprehend not a word
of his fine talk, "if you have anything to tell me, pray, say so; but,
for the life of me, I cannot discover what you mean by all this."

"I mean," said he, "that she, my lady, the Aphrodite who rules these
waves, the star who guides our course, the nymph who suns her locks on
this poor ship, the same condescends to call you her servant; wherefore,
owe it to her, that thou mayest also call me thy master."

I began to weary of this jargon.  Moreover, the fellow now seemed to be
talking about matters which he had better leave to Ludar and me.  So I
said:

"You are none of my master.  I have a better."

He looked a little hurt at this, I thought, and said:

"Can an ass call the horse its master when a man claimeth both?  Who is
this mortal, sirrah, that I may scorn him?"

"This gentleman is my master," said I, growing very hot, and laying my
hand on Ludar's arm.

The gallant laughed.

"Pretty, on my life!  The dog hath its parasites, the scullion his
menial, the earthen pot his mug, and each puffeth himself into a
gentleman thereby.  And who may you be, forsooth?"

"Ludar McSomhairle Buidhe McDonnell of the Glyns," said Ludar, solemnly.

The fellow laughed outright.

"I do remember," said he, "a pretty jest of Dan Aesopus about a jackdaw
who thought himself a peacock because he had a monstrous long feather to
his tail.  Prithee, thou silly son of Neptune, knowest thou not that if
I did bid thee carry me my box from the fore-deck there to the poop,
thou must crawl with it like my jack-porter?  And, by my soul, I have
named the very service that brought me hither.  Therefore, my lord Sir
Ludar McSorley Boy McNeptune McMalapert McDonnell of the Glyns, fetch my
box below.  And should the burden be too heavy for thy dainty fingers,
pray thy serving gentleman here to lend thee a hand."

Ludar, who was leaning against the mast, yawned; whereat, the gallant
dropping his fine speeches, turned as red as a lobster, and with a loud
French oath, drew out his rapier and flourished it.

Ludar watched him contemptuously for a while, until the blade, getting
courage at every pass, ventured a modest prick.  Then he leapt out like
a cat on a mouse, and caught the silly fellow such a grip of the wrist
as sent his sword spinning on the deck.  Picking it up, he quietly broke
it over his knee into three pieces, which he pitched one after the other
overboard.

"Now, master jackanapes," said he, returning to his adversary, and
catching him by his starched ruff.  "You shall follow your sword."

Then the poor fellow, scared out of his wits, let go a string of oaths,
and vowed to heaven he did but jest, and loved us both like his own
brothers, and, would Ludar but unhand him, he might count on him as a
friend for life, and so forth.  Even Ludar could not help laughing at
the figure he made; and having lifted him a little on to the gunwale,
let him down again with a "get you gone then."

'Twas wonderful how the gallant's courage came back as soon as he stood
free.

"By my soul," said he, with a gay laugh, "thou'rt a brave lad, and I
like thee for 't.  A jest is like marrow in a dog's bone, and life
without sport is a camel's track.  Come, thou and I shall be friends, I
see; and crack more jokes than one ere this voyage be over.  And, in
sooth, Achilles doth well to make proof now and again of the strength of
Hercules.  Why, my Hercules, I warrant thou couldest lift that box of
mine with thy finger and thumb.  I pray thee, for my admiration, see if
thou couldest so carry it from where it now lies to my cabin in the
poop; and our flying Dutchman here shall be judge that the feat be
fairly done."

Ludar, with a grim smile, owned that he had the worst of this encounter,
and made the fellow happy by carrying his box in one hand; although he
alarmed him not a little by offering to carry him in the other.

When this little jest was over, the captain came to us with orders to
join the crew in making all things ready for presently meeting the sea
breezes at the river's mouth; so we had no more time just then to think
of Master Coxcomb.

It moved my admiration to see with what a will Ludar worked at his task.
He made no question of the Frenchman's right to order his services; and
methought, as he hauled away cheerily among his ill-favoured messmates,
he looked as noble as had he been marching at the head of an army.  The
ship's crew was, to tell the truth, a scurvy company.  Not counting us,
there were but eleven of them, mostly French, who talked and cursed
while they worked and three English, who sulked and grumbled.  They
stared in no friendly way at Ludar and me when we joined them; nor did
they like us the better that, without much knowledge or seamanship, we
yet put our backs into what we did, and bade them do the same.  Ludar,
indeed, born to command, was not sparing in his abuse of their laziness;
and it vexed me a little to see how he thereby made himself an enemy of
every man among them.

Towards nightfall we were all ship-shape, and the watch being set--of
which Ludar was one--I had leisure to go below to seek the sleep I
sorely needed.  I would fain, before doing so, have visited the maiden
to satisfy myself that all went well with her.  But I durst hardly
venture so far without her bidding.  I sought my berth below,
therefore--and a vile, foul corner of the hold it was--and laid myself
down, wondering what would be the end of all this journeying.

There was a sailor--one of the Frenchmen--down beside me, who, when he
saw who I was, sat up and began to talk.  In a foolish moment I betrayed
that I understood some of his French lingo, whereat he--being more than
half drunken--waxed civil, and his tongue loosed itself still more.

"Who is she?" he whispered presently, in his foreign tongue.

"A lady," said I, shortly.

"So! and monstrous rich, by our lady!  Comrade," said he, "I helped
carry her box on board.  Do you take me for a fool?  There is something
weighs more in that than a maiden's frocks--eh, my friend?"

"You are a fool," said I.

"A fool?  Ha! ha!  'Tis well.  And I am fool enough to-- you be her man,
they say? and an honest fellow?  Ha! ha!"

"Ay, ay," said I, drowsily enough, "let me go to sleep."

"Ay, ay," said he, "even if it be silver pieces and not gold, 'twill be
enough to make men of thee and me.  Dost hear, sluggard?  Thee and me,
and no more planks and ropes, and--"

I had ceased to hear his maunderings, and was sound asleep.

When I awoke, it was to hear the thundering crash of a wave on the deck
overhead, and I knew we were at last on the open sea.  Alas! when I
turned over to recover my sleep, I fell into so horrible a fit of
shuddering and sickness that I believed the hour of my departure was
come.  The ship rolled heavily through the uneasy water, and at every
lurch my heart sunk--I know not whither.  I could hear the shuffling of
steps overhead, and the dash of the waves against the ship's side, and
the voice of the sailors at their posts.  Little recked they of the
comrade who was dying below!

Presently a call came for the new watch to turn up on deck.  I was
helpless to obey, and lay groaning there, not caring if the next lurch
took us down to the bottom.  At last, after much shouting, the captain
himself came down and shook me roughly.

"Leave me," said I, "to die in peace."

"Die!" cried he, "thou sickly lubber.  If you rise not in a minute's
time, we will see what a rope's end can do to 'liven thee.  Come, get
up."

I struggled to my feet, but in that posture my sickness came back with
double violence, so that I tumbled again to the floor, and vowed he
might use every rope in the ship to me, but up I could not get.

I do not well recall what happened those next few days.  I believe I
staggered upon deck and went miserably through the form of work, jeered
at by my fellow sailors, despised by my captain, and wondered at by
Ludar.  But when, after the sickness gave way, I one day found myself in
a fever, with my strength all gone, I was let go below and lie there
without more to do.  I know not how it came to pass, but ill I was for a
day or two; perhaps it was the vexations of the last few weeks, or the
weakness left by the sickness, or a visitation of the colic from heaven;
however it was, I lay there, humbled and ashamed of my weakness, and
wishing myself safe back outside Temple Bar.

At these times, Ludar was a brother to me.  He came often to see me, and
talked so cheerily, that I almost forgot how solemn his looks used to
be.  More than that, he fetched me dainties to eat, without which I
might have starved; for, while the fever lasted, I could not stomach the
strong ship's fare.  And I suspected more than once that he had secured
my peace from the captain by offering himself to do a good piece of my
work as well as his own.

He spoke little enough about the maiden, though I longed to hear of her.
Once, when I asked him, his face grew overcast.

"That maiden," said he, "is never so merry as when the waves are
breaking over the deck.  Yet I see her little, for, in sooth, the old
nurse has been nearer death than you, and will allow no one to go near
her but her young mistress.  Nor dare I offer myself where I am not
bidden.  Humphrey," added he, "I prefer to talk of something else."

Now, I must tell you that, to my surprise, I found I had another friend
in these dark days; I mean the poet.  Contemptible as was my plight, and
mean as was the cabin I hid in, when he heard I was ill, he came more
than once to see me.  It suited him to make a mighty to do about it, as
if his condescension must heal me on the spot.  Yet the kindness that
was in him, and the wonder he afforded me, made up for all these airs
and graces.

"Alack and well a day!" exclaimed he, when he first came.  "Vulcan hath
fallen from the clouds and lieth halting below.  The apple which was
rosy is become green, and the Dutchman who of late flew is now become
ship's ballast.  Nay, my poor ruin, thank me not for coming; 'tis the
common debt the high oweth to the low, the sound to the broken, the poem
to the prose; nay, 'tis the duty a knight oweth to his lady's humblest
menial."

"And how is the lady?" said I; for I wearied to hear of her, even from
any lips.

"Hast thou seen the swan with wings new dressed float on the summer
tide?  Hast thou heard the thrush, full-throated, call his mate across
the lea?  Hast thou watched the moon soar up the heavens, sweeping aside
the clouds, and defying the mists of earth?  Hast thou marked, my
Dutchman, the summer laughter on a field of golden corn?  Hast thou
tracked the merry breeze along the ripples of a dazzled ocean?--"

"Yes, yes," said I, "but what has that to do with the maiden we speak
of?"

He smiled on me pityingly.

"Such, poor youth, is she; and such, methinks, am I become, who sit at
her feet and sun myself in her light--"

"'Tis dark down here," I said, "but you seem to me neither swan, nor
thrush, nor moon, nor a corn fiel

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