"Thank 'ee," answered Adam, "but for myself I'll to bed."
"Ay, but where, messmate?"
"Any hole or corner shall serve."
"Aloft, sir!" said landlord Ben, appearing with lighted candle. "'Tis but attic 'neath the eaves, young master, but the best us can offer. We ha' stowed your gear there, a portmantle and two saddle-bags, sir."
"Nay, there should be a sword also, a rapier with its girdle and carriages."
"All's there aloft, ay ay, sir. But there was two swords. Us took care to have away all o' your belongings from Horsham 's arternoon, young sir."
"Why then, here's for your trouble, Ben,—nay take it, man! And now pray show me up to bed."
"Though first," said Absalom, "I've somewhat to tell thee, Adam. Give me the glim, Ben, and bring that you know to Mr. Adam's attic."
So up they went to a chamber beneath the thatch which, though small, being neat and clean, Adam thought well enough. And here to them came Ben with a flask of wine and large goblet which he set forth on little table beside the bed and with salute smart and sailorly, departed.
"Messmate, sit down," said Absalom, seating himself at the table, "for I've a thing to propose. But first, Adam, How d'ye like me?"
"Why," answered Adam, viewing the comely face opposite with his shrewd yet wistful gaze, "very well and sometimes—better than I suppose."
"Hum!" quoth Absalom, rubbing square chin. "Art a non-committal soul! Is your liking deep enough to trust me with all you own in this world?"
"Yes, for this is very little."
"Then wouldst trust me with thy very life, Adam?"
"Yes, for I hold it very cheap."
"Experience perchance shall make it dearer to thee anon, Adam. However, dost esteem and trust me sufficiently well to take me henceforth as thy comrade sworn?"
"Gratefully, Absalom, for you showed me kindliness and sympathy in ... my black hour."
"Well then," said Absalom, drawing a broad-bladed knife from his belt and testing its point on his thumb, "let us together now swear the Brotherhood Oath,—do you as I shall do." So saying, he filled the goblet with wine, then taking knife snicked his wrist with the keen point and from this small wound squeezed a few drops of blood into the wine; this done, he passed the knife to Adam who followed his example.
"Now, Adam, give me thy hand, swearing this oath after me. I, Absalom Troy, do take thee, Adam, to be my blood brother. I swear on the blood to keep thy counsel faithfully, to aid thee in all things 'gainst all men soever, to cherish and comfort thee in every adversity and to be faithful to thee until death,—or may I perish everlastingly."
So, with hands locked Adam swore this oath also, whereafter they pledged each other in the wine.
"Well now," quoth Absalom, setting down the empty goblet, "henceforth thy foes and woes are mine and mine are thine.... Yet dost ask no question as to what hast pledged thyself, brother, and wherefore not?"
"Because, having only my life to lose, I care not. Sufficient unto the day,—and so good night, brother Absalom."
CHAPTER V
TELLS OF TWO IN THE DAWN
Aroused by sounds of furtive, stealthy movement Adam sat up in bed, blinking in the dawn; heard a stair creak and, quick to guess what this meant, leapt from the sheets to dress speedily as he might and beside the open window. Thus, after a little while he saw Antonia come stealing out into the misty garden where no leaf stirred and no bird sang, for the sun was not yet up.
Very soon Adam was dressed and, shoes in hand, went creeping down the stair in his turn and so, very silently out of the house; then, having slipped on his shoes, he began to run and thus presently espied her going on before, a drooping, disconsolate figure in the dawn. He ran upon his toes and so silently that he was close before she heard and started about in sudden terror, but seeing him, clasped hands to resurgent bosom and closed her eyes so that he thought her about to swoon, and set his arm about her.
"Oh!" she gasped, shuddering violently. "I ... I thought 'twas ... them ... to drag me to ... the gallows! And 'tis ... only you!"
"Yes, only me," he repeated. And now she clung to him, sobbing so violently that he questioned her very anxiously:
"Why d' you weep so, poor child?"
"For ... joy that ... 'tis indeed ... only you! I was so very terrified, and now ... so marvellous glad."
"Then don't cry. Suffer me to wipe your tears,—sit down." So together down they sat and all heedless of the dew, leaning near each other in this windless, misty dawn, while Adam, doing his best with his handkerchief, proved so inept that she laughed, then gazed on him in wide-eyed amazement.
"Oh—I laughed!" she whispered. "And I do never laugh—now! But, oh Adam, why did you fright a poor body so?"
"Nay, why did you run away, Antonia?"
"Because I cannot ... dare not bide still in any place for fear they creep and ... take me ere I know ... drag me away to prison and... Ah! My master and mistress carried me to see them hang a poor serving maid not so old as I——"
"Hush! Never think on it, child!"
"I cannot help but think on it ... her dreadful weeping ... and screams ... and for five yards of lace——"
"But you are no thief."
"Yes, yes, I am! They cried me for thief ... I thought it was for my clothes, but now I know 'tis more.... Oh much, much more! Last night when I undressed I found—this!" And into his hand she thrust a man's large signet ring. "You see ... it is terribly valuable, much more than ... five yards of lace,—gold, Adam, and a great ruby stone."
"No, a garnet," said Adam, scowling at it. "And you found this?"
"Yes, in my bosom. My master must have thrust it there whiles we struggled."
"Ah?" said Adam, with show of white teeth.
"So now ... if I'm taken, they'll swear this against me, and surely hang me for thief. Oh, if I'm caught, this ring shall be ... my death!"
"No!" said Adam softly, but clenching his hand upon this ring. "Oh no, 'stead o' your death this vile thing shall perchance be his."
"How? Oh—how?"
"The liar shall swallow it. Where lives he?"
"I ... no, I shall not tell."
"Ha, why not, child, why not indeed?"
"Lest you kill him,—if I have not,—and they hang you with me."
"Yet, Antonia, I do beg you'll tell me."
"No, Adam, I never will ... never!"
"Then—here's for your lying master's false evidence!" And dropping the ring into the dewy grass, he spurned and stamped it deep from sight beneath scornful heel.
"So!" he said, hissing between clenched teeth. "I would 'twere your rogue-master's villainous face!"
"Nay now, Adam, prithee don't look so—murderous."
"Why then tell me, Antonia, where you were going?"
"Oh—anywhere! London, I think ... it doth not matter."
"Afoot, child, and without money?"
"Nay, your friends gave me money."
"And when this is gone, how then, Antonia?"
"I shall work my way ... or beg."
Adam looked at her ripe, young shapeliness, her pale though lovely face, saw the terror and despair in her wide, grey eyes, and began to tremble, even as she was trembling.
"No, by God!" said he, between grim lips, "there you shall meet death—and worse, so this you shall not do!" Then he was up and seizing her nerveless hands in masterful grasp, drew her to her feet with unexpected strength and compelled her to go beside him.
"What...?" she gasped. "Where do you take me?"
"Back to present safety. Come, I want to talk and you to listen. For if you'll trust to me, Antonia, as you must, I have a scheme shall keep you safe."
"No," said she, breathlessly. "No! I shall never be safe in England; no matter where I go there will always be a shadow behind me,—cold,—cold and dreadful, the shadow of ... a gallows."