THE COMPANY AT THE NOBLE ROSE
The next morning I was up betimes; indeed, I do not think that I slept
very much that night, and such sleep as I did have was of a disturbed
sort, peopled with wild sea-dreams of all kinds. In my impatience it
seemed to me as if the time would never come for me to keep my
appointment with Captain Marmaduke; but then, as ever, the hands of the
clock went round their appointed circle, and at half-past eleven I was
at my destination. The Noble Rose stood in the market square. It was a
fine place enough, or seemed so to my eyes then, with its pillared
portal and its great bow-windows at each side, where the gentlemen of
quality loved to sit of fine evenings drinking their ale or their
brandy, and watching the world go by.
In the left-hand window as I came up I saw that the Captain was sitting,
and as I came up he saw me and beckoned me to come inside.
With a beating heart I entered the inn hall, and was making for the
Captain's room when a servant barred my way.
'Now then, where are you posting to?' he asked, with an insolent
good-humour. 'This is a private room, and holds private company.'
'I know that,' I answered, 'but it holds a friend of mine, whom I want
to see and who wants to see me.'
The man laughed rudely. 'Very likely,' he said, 'that the company in the
Dolphin are friends of yours,' and then, as I was still pressing
forward, he put out his hand as if to stay me.
This angered me; and taking the knave by the collar, I swung him aside
so briskly that he went staggering across the hall and brought up
ruefully humped against a settle. Before he could come at me again the
door of the Dolphin opened, and Captain Marmaduke appeared upon the
threshold. He looked in some astonishment from the rogue scowling on the
settle to me flushed with anger.
'Heyday, lad,' he said, 'are you having a bout of fisticuffs to keep
your hand in?'
'This fellow,' I said, 'tried to hinder me from entering yonder room,
and I did but push him aside out of my path.'
'Hum!' said Captain Marmaduke, ''twas a lusty push, and cleared your
course, certainly. Well, well, I like you the better, lad, for not being
lightly balked in your business.' And therewith he led me into the
Dolphin.
There was a sea-coal fire in the grate, for the day was raw and the glow
welcome. Beside the fire an elderly gentleman sat in an arm-chair. He
had a black silk skull-cap on his head, and his face was wrinkled and
his eyes were bright, and his face, now turned upon me, showed harsh. I
knew of course that he was Lancelot's other uncle, he who would never
suffer that I should set foot within his gates. Indeed, his face in many
points resembled that of his brother--as much as an ugly face can
resemble a fair one. There was a likeness in the forehead and there was
a likeness in the eyes, which were something of the same china-blue
colour, though of a lighter shade, and with only cold unkindness there
instead of the genial kindness of the Captain's.
A man stood on the other side of the open fireplace, a man of about
forty-five, of something over the middle height and marvellously
well-built. He was clad in what, though it was not distinctly a seaman's
habit, yet suggested the ways of the sea, and there was a kind of
foppishness about his rig which set me wondering, for I was used to a
slovenly squalor or a slovenly bravery in the sailors I knew most of.
He was a handsome fellow, with dark curling hair and dark eyes, and a
dark skin that seemed Italian.
I have heard men say that there is no art to read the mind's complexion
in the face. These fellows pretend that your villain is often
smooth-faced as well as smooth-tongued, and pleases the eye to the
benefit of his mischievous ends. Whereas, on the other hand, many an
honest fellow is damned for a scoundrel because with the nature of an
angel he has the mask of a fiend. In which two fancies I have no belief.
A rogue is a rogue all the world over, and flies his flag in his face
for those who can read the bunting. He may flatter the light eye or the
cold eye, but the warm gaze will find some lurking line by the lip, some
wryness of feature, some twist of the devil's fingers in his face, to
betray him. And as for an honest man looking like a rogue, the thing is
impossible. I have seen no small matter of marvels in my time--even, as
I think, the great sea serpent himself, though this is not the time and
place to record it--but I have never seen the marvel of a good man with
a bad man's face, and it was my first and last impression that the face
of Cornelys Jensen was the face of a rogue.