Sir Ludar Part 34

"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.

I remember the very words she was reading as I entered unheeded.

"'So it fell, that knight returned, and none knew him; no, not even the dog in the outer court. But when he spake, there was a certain little maid knew his voice, whom, as a child, he was wont to make sport with.

But now, because she was grown from child to woman, and her mirth was turned to love, did she say never a word when he appeared, but ran away and hid herself.'"

"And do tall knights and ladies play at hide-and-go-seek, like boys and girls?" asked the little sister.

Jeannette laughed at the question, and as she did so, she looked up and saw me standing there.

She, at least, knew me!

For a moment the colour left her cheeks, in fear and doubt. Next, it rushed back in a crimson flood; then she uttered my name, and hid her face in the bosom of the little child.

I was but a plain 'prentice with no more than my share of brains. Yet, I had need to be slow-witted indeed, not to read a long, wonderful story in what I saw then.

"Ay," said I, stepping forward, and answering the little's one's question, "and sometimes they find one another too."

And, as in the old days, I kissed them both, and was very happy.

When, presently, Master Walgrave returned and saw me there, he seemed not too well pleased. Yet, I suspected he was not altogether discontented to see me back, for he counted me a proper workman and handy at my craft. And when I set-to and told them a plain tale of what had befallen me, and how ill I had been slandered by my fellow 'prentice, and how ready I was to serve them now, he grew less sullen, and bade me abide where I was till he considered the matter.

From my mistress in turn I learned something of their doings since I saw them last in the street of Kingston. The minister, she said, had pinched himself to shelter them for many a week, while they worked for him among the harvesters and in the dairy, in return. But at last when Autumn came, and they could do no more to serve him, they departed, and pet.i.tioned the Company to admit them back to the printing house; which, after much ado, was granted, and so they continued with much labour to subsist. But Peter, I was told afterwards, made himself master of everything, and, in return for his services, exacted all the profit, little as it was, they made by the printing. At last, after lying six months in gaol, Master Walgrave grew weary, and permitted his wife to sue for him to the Bishop; which she did, and so prettily, that his Grace allowed the prisoner to go free, on his submission. Since then, all had fared well. Peter Stoupe, who could hardly be parted with, was put back to his place and a new journeyman obtained. Business came back, winter went, springtime returned, and roses blossomed once more in sweet Jeannette's cheeks; and all went merrily.

As for Mistress Jeannette's cheeks, it seemed to me, as I sat and watched her that evening, that the roses had not done blossoming yet.

But I said little to her, for I guessed she would not talk. Only, when bed-time came, and I went, as of old, to carry her up the steep stairs, she looked up brightly and said:

"I can walk now, Humphrey; _voila_. That was one good thing your going did for me."

"I would it had been any other good," said I, "for it was pleasant to help you. But, see, you still want some help."

"Well, sometimes I walk better. But to-night--no, I am not a baby, truly," said she, laughing as I offered to take her up. "Give me your arm, Humphrey; that is enough."

So I helped her up the stairs, and at the top she thanked me, and said she was glad I was come back, for her father's sake--meaning Master Walgrave, her step-father.

I asked was she glad for no reason else? and she said, perhaps for my sake 'twas good to be at work once more.

"Anyone's sake besides?"

"_Peut-etre_," said she in her French jargon, vanishing into her chamber. I was a better scholar than I once was, and could translate the words in a way that made my heart beat.

So I left her and came down to supper.

There I found Peter Stoupe, very black in the face, awaiting me. He tried to look civil as I came to the table, but 'twas plain he had little stomach for his meal.

"My master telleth me," said he, "he is content to give thee another trial, Humphrey. Pray heaven he may never hear how much it is he forgiveth thee. As for me, this folly of his is like to cost him my service, as I told him."

"When are you going?" I asked.

"That concerns myself," said Peter. "But since we be alone, Humphrey Dexter, let me say to you one thing. Whether I go or stay, know that I desire you hold no converse with my mistress' daughter, and that for a very sufficient reason. She is promised to me."

I laughed at this.

"Since when?" I asked.

"That too concerneth me," said Peter, who liked not my mirth. "I shall wed her anon; and till then I would have her kept clear of your company."

"Pa.s.s the mug, Peter Stoupe, and cease your funning. The day sweet Jeannette weds with you, I will saddle the horse shall carry you to church. Till then, if I catch so much as her name on your foul lips, I will drop you, feet uppermost, in the mud of Fleet Ditch. So make a bargain of it."

He turned green at that, for he guessed I meant what I said.

"What?" began he; "you who ruined my master, and robbed--"

Here I sprang to my feet, and he stopped short.

"Robbed whom?" demanded I.

"Enough," said he, motioning me to sit down. "I resolved, when you came, to hold no parley with you, and I repent me I have done so.

Henceforth, Humphrey Dexter, we are strangers."

"Be what you will," said I, "only keep a civil tongue in your head."

And I went up to bed.

Now this was yet another trial to Peter, who had been used to lie alone while I was absent, and now loathed that I should rob him thus of half his kicking room. But he durst say naught. Only he lay at the far edge, and, instead of saying his prayers, cursed me between his teeth.

It was in my heart to pity Peter Stoupe that night. For it was plain I had come in an evil hour for him. Master Walgrave had been hoodwinked by his smooth manners and lying tongue, and was fain to believe he owed him more for the duty he had done while his master was in gaol than in truth he did. Nor durst my mistress thwart him over much for the same cause. As for Jeannette--if she humoured him and endured his civilities, 'twas because she was ever kind. So all was going well with Peter when I chanced home, who knew him for his worth and promised to spoil his sport. Little wonder, then, if he hated to see me, and kept at the far edge of the bed.

However, I had more to think of than him; and, finding him deaf, even when I tried to be civil, I busied myself with other thoughts, and fell asleep, to dream a jumbled dream of Ludar, and Jeannette, and the captain of the _Misericorde_.

I remember I dreamed that Ludar and Jeannette were keeping the watch on deck while I slept below; and that my hour being come, the captain had come down to fetch me, and was standing over me; when I awoke suddenly, and, in the dim moonlight, saw a real figure at the bedside. It was Peter Stoupe, and, though I could scarce see his face, I knew he was glowering on me, white in his hand he slowly lifted a knife above my heart. I was motionless, not with terror--for his hand trembled so it could scarce have dealt a deadly blow--but with horror to find such a man at such a deed. So, though my eyes were open, he saw not that I was awake, and with a gasp brought down his hand. Mine was out in time to catch him by the wrist. "Peter Stoupe!" I cried; "are you gone mad?"