"Wait till you hear, Humphrey. My command is that you quit not London
at present."
"I understand," said I, "and had already resolved that only your command
should move me hence."
"That makes me happier," said she, with a sigh of relief. "Now for the
boon. What if I asked you to spare me Jeannette for a season?"
I think I looked so taken aback by that, that she had it on her lips to
take back the request. But I recovered myself in time. "What says
she?" I asked.
"I have not asked her," said she.
"I will ask her then," said I, and we went together to where Jeannette
sat waiting for us.
"Jeannette," said I, "this maiden asks me to lend her the most precious
thing I possess. Say, shall I do so?"
"Yea, Humphrey, and with a willing heart."
"Then, sweetheart," said I, kissing her, "I will even lend her thee."
It surprised me that when it came to asking my master and mistress they
gave their leave after but a short parley. For the two maids were so
bound together, and the lot of the one was so pitiful and desolate, that
it seemed, after all, not too great a boon to ask. And when Jeannette
herself seconded the request, and I encouraged it, they yielded.
In truth, my master was just then so full of his work and of the peril
he ran, that I think he was all the better disposed to see one of his
family thus provided for. Besides, he might safely reckon on the more
work from me, when I should have naught to tempt me nightly from my
case. As for my mistress, she was already making ready to take her
younger children to visit a gossip of hers, one Mistress Crane; and it
eased her of some little difficulty to find her party lightened by one
for a season.
So all fell out well for the maiden, and sorrowfully for me. Yet, when
she reproached herself for her selfishness in robbing me of my
sweetheart, I had not the heart to show her all I felt. In sooth, this
maiden needed a friend and comforter sorely; and how was she to fare on
that long troublesome journey with no comrade but a rough man, and
perchance a half-witted poet? For the poet, vowing that Aphrodite
should never need for a gallant, nor a maiden in distress for a knight,
begged so hard to go too, that she was fain to yield and admit him of
the party.
'Twas late in March when our house was left desolate. On the last
evening before they went, she asked me to row her and Jeannette once
again on the river. I guessed why she asked, and needed no telling
which course to take.
And as our boat lay on the oars beneath the shadow of that gloomy tower,
she looked up long and wistfully, as one who takes a long farewell.
Then with a sigh she motioned to me to turn the boat's head and row
home.
Not a word did any of us say during that sad voyage. Only, when we
reached home and I handed her from the boat, she said--
"Humphrey, I am glad you are staying near him."
So, then, I discovered, she believed him living still and that I should
see him again.
That night, as Jeannette and I stood in the garden watching the
moonbeams play on the water, and feeling our hearts very heavy at the
parting that was to come, we heard the splashing of an oar at the river
side, and presently a man stepped up the bank and stood before us,
saluting. At first I was so startled that my hand went to my belt, and
I had out my sword in a twinkling. But I sent it home again directly I
heard his voice, and recognised not an enemy but that same Jack Gedge
whom Ludar had charged long ago at Dunluce to see to the maiden.
Only two days since, he told us, had he been let out of Rochester gaol;
when he had gone forthwith to Canterbury and heard from mine host at the
"Oriflame" that a certain printer's 'prentice by name Dexter, if any
one, could tell him what had befallen the nunnery maiden. Whereupon he
had travelled all the way to London in a day, and had not been able to
hear of me. But, spying us just now in a boat, as he stood near London
Bridge, he had taken craft and followed us, and here he was, ready to
take up his charge, and, whether we willed it or no, look after the
maiden.
This was a great joy to us all, not least of all to the maiden herself,
to whom it seemed like a message from an absent one.
So it came to pass, when on the morrow the travellers started westward,
there were five of them. And methought if any harm came to those two
fair women with such champions to guard them, it would indeed go hard
with all.
They had not been gone three days, and the desolate house, occupied only
by me and my master, seemed as void and dull as ever, when one afternoon
who should step into the shop but a fine gentleman whom I had never seen
before, but whom I guessed to be no friend, as soon as I saw him.
"I am told," said he, "that an honest 'prentice, one Dexter, dwelleth
here."
"You be told very right," said I, affecting to be as simple as he wished
me. "I am he."
"To be sure, honest fellow," said he, "we have met before."
"Where might that be?" asked I.
"No matter where," said he, "but I remember you for a fine honest
fellow. And, indeed, 'tis for that reason I am come. I have but lately
lost my servant, a drunken scoundrel whom I am well rid of. And hearing
from more than one a likely report of you, and knowing you myself that
you are the sort of fellow I need--honest, strong in the arm, and quick
of wit--I resolved to offer you the service. And as for wage, if you
will come, marry I value a good servant so well that there shall be no
question betwixt us on that score. Here is a purse for thy first
month's service; and if you be the man I take you for, you shall have
the like each month you serve me."
"I am mightily beholden to you," said I, gaping at the money and
smelling villainy in it all. "And by your leave, Sir Captain, what may
be your service?"
"Easy enough for a lad of thy mettle. Indeed, whether you take my
service or no, you shall keep that purse, provided you tell me where a
certain maiden, ward to the Lady Cantire and daughter to the O'Neill, is
now?"
Now I guessed whose messenger I talked with, and what his business might
be with me.
It surprised me that he came to the point so quickly. But the greedy
way I fingered his money deceived him, and he supposed me won already.
"And how should I know aught of her?" said I.
"Come now," said he, "'tis I am here to ask you questions, not you me.
If you want not the money you need not answer. There be others whose
tongues it can loosen. So hand it back."