pped with foam. One or two
looked back at him and bit their lips; but Carew's eyes were hot and
fierce, and his hand was on his poniard. The rest, after a curious
glance or two, shrugged their shoulders carelessly and galloped on: this
affair was Master Gaston Carew's business, not theirs.

Until high noon they hurried on with neither stop nor stay. Then they
came to a place where a little brook sang through the grass by the
roadside in a shady nook beneath some mighty oaks, and there the
master-player whistled for a halt, to give the horses breath and rest,
and to water them at the brook-pools. Some of the players sauntered up
and down to stretch their tired legs, munching meat and bread; and some
lay down upon the grass and slept a little. Two of them came, offering
Nick some cakes and cheese; but he was crying hard and would neither
eat nor drink, though Carew urged him earnestly. Then Master Tom
Heywood, with an ugly look at Carew, and without so much as an
if-ye-please or a by-your-leave, led Nick up the brook to a spot where
it had not been muddied by the horses, and made him wash his dusty face
and hands in the cool water and dampen his hair, though he complied as
if in a daze. And indeed Nick rode on through the long afternoon,
clinging helplessly to the pommel of his saddle, sobbing bitterly until
for very weariness he could no longer sob.

It was after nine o'clock that night when they rode into Towcester, and
all that was to be seen was a butcher's boy carting garbage out of the
town and whistling to keep his courage up. The watch had long since gone
to sleep about the silent streets, but a dim light burned in the
tap-room of the Old Brown Cow; and there the players rested for
the night.

CHAPTER XIII

A DASH FOR FREEDOM

Nick awoke from a heavy, burning sleep, aching from head to foot. The
master-player, up and dressed, stood by the window, scowling grimly out
into the ashy dawn. Nick made haste to rise, but could not stifle a
sharp cry of pain as he staggered to his feet, he was so racked and sore
with riding.

At the boy's smothered cry Carew turned, and his dark face softened with
a sudden look of pity and concern. "Why, Nick, my lad," he cried, and
hurried to his side, "this is too bad, indeed!" and without more words
took him gently in his arms and carried him down to the courtyard well,
where he bathed him softly from neck to heel in the cold, refreshing
water, and wiped him with a soft