"What now?" Adam questioned, for he felt her shudder violently.
"I'm wondering ... wondering what is to become of me? It was to 'scape one man that I struck and fled, and now ... three!"
"However," answered Adam, "these three are men indeed, moreover, of these three, I am one."
"You!" she repeated, hopelessly. "But they are so big and you so ... young."
"And—small!" said he, bitterly. "But as for young—look at this!" And snatching off his seaman's bonnet, showed his long white hair all glistening to the moon. "How say you now—child?" he demanded, somewhat grimly.
"Sir," she answered, viewing him with very wistful, humbly-questioning eyes, "I know not how or what to say. Your face—so young and your head—so very old! Sir, indeed I cannot tell what to say."
"Well," quoth Adam, covering his hair again, "if my head be old it should be wise, and if it be wise, it should scheme how to save and keep a poor lonely child safe from all harms and dangers."
"Sir," said she, after they had gone some little way and no word, "there is something you may tell me, if you will, a thing that puzzles me ... why do you smell of fire?"
"Because," he answered, looking up at the serene night sky, "I have come through the fire of ... Great Tribulation."
It was about now that Absalom said to his solemn companion:
"Love my eyes! Smy, wilt look now at my young Adam. He's said more to his slip of a murderess in this short while than to me since I hauled him to his spindleshanks. Ay, he has so—or I'm a forked radish!"
"Absalom, I ponder how best and soonest we may dispose of the poor creature to her own safety and good. For, as the Lord knoweth, she shall find neither along of us!"
"True enough, messmate, we are no company for any young lass, so—how and when is the question. Ha, damme, she's a woman's concern and care,—we be men and bent on plaguey desperate course. And besides there's Mings and t'other wild lads. The 'Mariner's Joy' shall be no harbourage for any maid, murderess or no."
"How so be, Lom, we shall supply her with what o' money we may and thereafter leave her in care o' the Lord that hath been our protection hitherto, bringing us, thou and I, all unscathed through such stress o' tempest, shipwreck, battle and bloody strife as is my abiding wonder and cause for gratitude."
"True enough, Smy, we should ha' been bleached bones long since, otherwise.... And yonder, where the ways divide shall indeed be a parting o' the ways. Forrard, messmate!"
Thus being come to these cross-roads, Adam suddenly found his two companions beside him.
"What now?" he questioned, reining up.
"Why here," answered Absalom, "when we have bestowed what monies we may, we bid farewell and good fortune to young mistress here——"
"Leaving her," Captain Smy added, "unto the Lord, his care."
"Why very well," said Adam, looking from one to other, "ride on and leave us to go our way alone."
"Ay, but whither, Adam?"
"The 'Mariner's Joy' and Mother Martha."
"Nenny, Adam, 'tis no place for any young maid, or damme!"
"Yet, Absalom, thither she goes, or curse me!"
"Eh, lad, eh? Lord love us, wilt snap at thy messmate? I tell thee, Adam, this is impossible."
"And I tell you, Absalom, I esteem few things to be impossible."
"Oh, I'll go!" said Antonia miserably. "Loose me and I'll go——"
"Ay, let her away, messmate, 'twill be best for her and us."
"Best?" demanded Adam, in a still fury. "Best d'ye say? Man, d'ye know what you are doing? Will ye dare to leave her—the defenceless prey for any loose night-prowler,—horror o' mind and shame o' body ... will ye leave her to hazard o' this? 'Yes!' says you. 'Then damn your friendship and let's be enemies,' says I. In such case I'll fight you or any man, kill or be killed and joy in it."
"'S death!" exclaimed Absalom, peering at this small yet resolute speaker. "Sink and burn me but I believe you would."
"Sir, be very sure of it! And of this also,—to-night this child of ours shall lie secure at the 'Mariner's Joy'."
"Ours, d'ye say? Our child, Adam?"
"Indeed. Since she lieth in our care, ours she must be. So here's the reason she goeth with us. Now if this reason suffice, let us ride on, if not, we will debate the matter with steel. Perchance you shall find reason on my rapier-point."
"How,—a challenge? D'ye dare me, Adam?"
"Ay, with all my heart."
For a long moment they fronted and stared on each other, eye to eye; then Absalom's shapely lips curved, he smiled, he chuckled, he threw back his head and laughed joyously.
"Adam!" said he. "Oh Adam! I'm going to love thee some day—except thou force me to shoot or hang thee for insubordination and mutiny! Smy, how think ye of my hell-fire roaring boy?"
"That verily he is his father's son, for here is no boastful bragster, Absalom, the youth hath bowels! Mayhap the Lord hath raised him up to some purpose, and 'tis for us to abide the issue. Ride on."
So came they at last, and silent all, to the tavern; but having stabled the horses:
"Belay now!" muttered Absalom. "Easy all and softly by reason of our Martha for, though good soul, she's a woman and therefore overly apt with her tongue."
"And," sighed Captain Smy, "the tongue of woman is very disquieting member, being tipped with a viperish gall."
"Therefore," continued Absalom, glancing up at the silent house, "our best course shall be to steal us softly within doors and——"
"House!" shouted Adam, loudly as he might, "Mistress Purdy! Oh, Mother Martha!" And deaf to Absalom's commands and Smy's exhortations he continued his shouting until a lattice swung wide to let forth Mrs. Purdy's indignant face framed in a large nightcap.
"Ha!" cried she, "stint this drunken clamour ... what, is it you and—oh my soul, with—a woman! A drabbish trollop, as I'm a vartuous creetur! Pack off ... pack off ... away wi' her. Nay but I'll see into this!" The head vanished swiftly, lattice closed angrily, Absalom cursed pettishly, Captain Smy groaned, and Antonia trembled.
"Adam, fool, what i' the Fiend's name——? Damme but you've done it now!" quoth Absalom.
"I hope so!" said Adam, and taking Antonia's trembling hand he led her forward as the door opened and Martha Purdy fronted them, a fierce-eyed, night-capped figure of Judgment.
"Lord bless and save us all!" she cried angrily. "What's this wickedness. Fie shame on ye, here's no place for your naughty baggage, 'tis a good house, mine, so pack now—pack!" And she waved them off with imperious hand. But, stepping lightly forward, Adam had taken and kissed this so forbidding hand, all in a moment.
"Mrs. Purdy," said he, uncovering his white head, "dear Mother Martha, if I tell you this is my sister and she and I orphans and, for the time being, homeless, will you turn us away? Life hath not been kind to us and she is sore distressed. So, if I ask of your compassion to take her to your gentle care, to shelter her for this night at least, will you deny? Also I can pay well. See—she droops with hunger and weariness! Wilt now open thy generous heart and mother her—this little while?"
Mrs. Purdy glanced at Adam, looked at the woeful girl and instinctively reached forth her arms.
"Why now," said she. "Lord love her sweet, sad eyes, this will I! Come thy ways, my poor, pretty lamb, there—there! As for thee, young master, if I thought wrong, forgive me for 'tis naughty world and most men so wicked, 'specially"—here she rolled bright eye at Absalom, "'specially sailor-men! Come now, my sweeting, shalt eat and to bed, and—within hearing and call o' me! Now go along o' Mother Martha."
"Well!" exclaimed Absalom, so soon as they were alone. "Smy, old shipmate, my young Adam hath found his tongue and to some purpose, or I'm a shotten herring! Now let's stay for a noggin afore we turn in."