Three days later, as our ship laboured up the gulf of the Solway, Ludar
came to me, as I stood on the poop, and said:
"Humphrey, I have news."
"Good or bad?" I asked.
"Neither," said he, "for it means we must part."
"I call that bad news. How is it, Ludar?"
"Our fellow-voyager," said he, and I could see he spoke nervously like
one who doubts his listener, "is in the service of my Queen, Mary of
Scotland. There! fly not out, Humphrey; I never said she was your
Queen."
"Heaven forbid!" said I. "And as for this stranger, I mistrusted him
all along. How calls he himself?"
"He is one Captain Fortescue, and hath a commission to engage loyal men
to the Queen's service. And, indeed, she needs it; for she lies in
prison, watched and solitary, with scarce a face about her that is not
an enemy's. What would you do, Humphrey, were your Queen in such a
plight?"
"Were my Queen a traitor--" I began, and stopped.
"I cannot help myself," said he. "I owe her my life. Only one woman
else could claim it, and her I have lost."
"But," said I, "are you sure of this man? May this not be some trap to
your ruin? What if he be a spy and no more?"
Ludar laughed.
"If so," said he, "he would have better sport on foot than to practise
on an outlaw like me. No, Humphrey, he is a loyal man, as, pray heaven,
so am I. And he commands me in a name I cannot resist."
"Then," said I, sadly, "we part. I would have served you, Ludar, on any
other service. But I, too, have a Queen, who owns me."
"So be it," said he. "I expected it; and naught else could part me from
you. Be sure we shall meet again, Humphrey, when all is over."
"Who knows but it may be on the field of battle?" said I, sadly. "Yet,
tell me where I shall hear of you; and take note where you shall hear of
me. For I will back to London--"
"To your love," said he, with a sigh. "So be it. You shall hear of me
there, Humphrey."
"And, before we part," said I, taking his great hand, "swear me an oath,
Ludar, that you will not forget me."
He flung my hand away impatiently.
"Do you take me for a knave, brother? I swear to you, that next to my
Queen, my father, and the memory of her who once loved me, you have the
chiefest right to say, 'Ludar, help me,' and if I forget you, 'twill be
that I have forgotten I am a man."
That comforted me vastly, and I too made my vow.
"Next to my Queen," said I, "and no one besides, you are still my
master; and my life goes for nothing, so it shall serve you and her you
love, who, I am sure, is true to you still, and waits for you somewhere,
whatever men say."
He gripped my hand hard at that; and, sorrowful as it was, we loved one
another the more at that parting than ever before.
Next day we landed. Captain Fortescue, suspecting me to be no friend to
him or his cause, was in haste to reach Carlisle, and shortened our
leave-taking in consequence. We had but time to renew our vows, when
the boat which was to carry my friend and his new master from me came
alongside and severed us. I watched him till the envious hills came in
between; and, as I saw him last, standing and waving his hat, methought
a great piece had gone out of my life, and that there was left of me but
half the man I once was.
And now must my story hasten on by strides, such as never the laggard
months took after I had said farewell to Ludar. For 'tis of him, not of
Humphrey Dexter, that I am the chronicler, and till my history meet him
once more my reader is without his hero.
Yet there are one or two scenes a-wanting to fill up the gap; which,
even though they concern chiefly me, I must relate in their proper
place.
Two months had gone by, and in the budding woods the spring birds were
wakening the earth out of her winter sleep, when I stood once more,
footsore and friendless, in the streets of London. How I had got so far
it matters not, nor how like a vagabond I begged and worked my way;
staying now here for a few days ploughing, now there to break in a colt;
held in bondage in one town because I lacked the money to pay my score,
and chivied from the next for a rogue, which I was not. Not a few men I
fought by the way--for I clung to my sword through all--and not a few
constables I laid by the heels (Heaven forgive me!) in mine own defence.
Be all that as it may, I stood again in London town, whence, it seemed,
I had been absent not nine months but nine years. With tattered hose
and doublet, with coat that scarce held together at my back, with no cap
to my head, and scarce one shoe to divide betwixt my two feet, 'twas
little wonder if no man but the watch heeded me, still less suspected me
to be the once famous captain of the clubs without Temple Bar.
My way into the city led by Finsbury Fields, where were many 'prentices
at their sports, and citizens taking their sweethearts to sniff the
sweet spring air. No one wanted me there. The lads bade me make way
for my betters, and the maids held back their skirts as they swept by.
So I left them and wandered citywards.
I marvelled to see all so little changed, forgetting how short a time I
had been away. There stood Stationers' Hall, as lordly as ever, and
Timothy Ryder, the beadle, taking his fees at the compter. There, too,
was the great Cathedral with its crowd of loungers, and Fleet Street
full of swaggering 'prentices, and the River sparkling in the sun.
Then, as I came near Temple Bar, my heart fell a thumping. Not that I
forgot the place was deserted and the old home broken; but because it
reminded me of what once was before all these troubles began. I crawled
at a snail's pace, wishing to put off the pang as long as possible. In
fancy I was at my case, as I had been a year ago, clicking the letters
into my stick, in time to the chirping of my little mistress who sang at
her work within. At my side I could hear the dull groaning of the heavy
press, and not far off the whining of Peter Stoupe's everlasting psalm-
tune. All was as if--
Was I dreaming? or was this the self-same psalm-tune come again to life,
and, to accompany it, the dull grinding of the self-same press?
Strange, that the bar was off the door, and, as I came to it, a fellow
with a ream on his back laboured out. I had expected naught but the
desolation and silence which I last remembered in the place, and it
staggered me to find all going on as before. No doubt here was some
upstart printer, standing in my late master's shoes and working at his
forfeited press!
In no pleasant mood I walked, ragged and travel-stained as I was, into
the shop. Sure enough, it was Peter Stoupe, my late fellow-apprentice,
who was whining, and beside him a new journeyman lugged at the press.
Peter knew me not at first, so changed and unkempt was I with my long
journeyings.
"Come," said he, surlily, "bustle hence, thou varlet. We keep nought
here but sticks for rogues like thee to taste. Get you gone!"
And he advanced on me with the stick.
Just to remind him of old days, I whipped it from his hand and gave him
a crack on the skull, which brought him to himself at once.
"Why," said he, dropping his jaw, and gaping at me as if I had been a
ghost, "if it be not Humphrey Dexter, as I'm a sinner!"
"As certain as thou art a sinner," said I, "it is none other. What of
that, Peter Stoupe?"
"Why," said he, "I warn thee to pack hence. For Master Walgrave hath
had enough of thee, I warrant; and there is none else here wanteth
thee."
"Then Master Walgrave is out of gaol?" I asked.
"No thanks to thee; he hath made his peace with the Company, and is
restored to his own."
"And my mistress, and Jeannette, and the lad?" I asked.
"They are naught to thee," answered he, curtly.
"Are they here?" I asked again.
"I tell thee that is naught to thee, Humphrey Dexter. I marvel, after
what is past, you dare name them."
"By heavens, you shall have something to marvel at," said I, laying hold
of him by the collar, and shaking him till his bones rattled. "Answer
me, are they here?"
"To be sure, to be sure," gasped he. "I pray you unhand me, Humphrey;
my old friend, you are too rough."
I flung him off, to the mirth of the new journeyman (who, it was plain,
loved him no more than I), and walked through the shop to the parlour
behind.
There in a nook beside the window, which was open to let in the sweet
scent of the spring and the merry chirping of the birds, sat my sweet
young mistress, Jeannette, reading out of a book to the little sister
who sat on her knee; and ever and anon looking out at the swift, shining
river, as it washed past the garden wall.