rd himself; and going to the end
of the corridor, he marked at random upon the wall.

"Oh, Nick, I love thee," said the master-player, holding the boy's hands
with a bitter grip. "Dost thou not love me just a little? Come, lad, say
that thou lovest me."

[Illustration: "'WHY, SIR, I'LL SING FOR THEE NOW.' SAID NICK,
CHOKING."] "Nay, Master Carew," Nick answered soberly, "I do na love
thee, and I will na say I do, sir; but I pity thee with all my heart.
And, sir, if thy being out would keep me stolen, still I think I'd wish
thee out--for Cicely. But, Master Carew, do na break my hands."

The master-player loosed his grasp. "I will not seek to be excused to
thee," he said huskily. "I've prisoned thee as that clod prisons me;
but, Nick, the play is almost out, down comes the curtain on my heels,
and thy just blame will find no mark. Yet, Nick, now that I am fast and
thou art free, it makes my heart ache to feel that 'twas not I who set
thee free. Thou canst go when pleaseth thee, and thank me nothing for
it. And, Nick, as my sins be forgiven me, I truly meant to set thee free
and send thee home. I did, upon my word, and on the remnant of
mine honour!"

"Time's good and up, sirs," said the turnkey, coming back.

Carew thrust his hand into his breast.

"I must be going, sir," said Nick.

"Ay, so thou must--all things must go. Oh, Nick, be friendly with me
now, if thou wert never friendly before. Kiss me, lad. There--now thy
hand." The master-player clasped it closely in his own, and pressing
something into the palm, shut down the fingers over it. "Quick! Keep it
hid," he whispered. "'Tis the chain I had from Stratford's burgesses, to
some good usage come at last."

"Must I come and fetch thee out?" growled the turnkey.

"I be coming, sir."

"Thou'lt send Will Shakspere? And, oh, Nick," cried Carew, holding him
yet a little longer, "thou'lt keep my Cicely from harm?"

"I'll do my best," said Nick, his own eyes full.

The turnkey raised his heavy bunch of keys. "I'll ding thee out o' this"
said he.

And the last Nick Attwood saw of Gaston Carew was his wistful eyes
hunting down the stairway after him, and his hand, with its torn fine
laces, waving at him through the bars.

And when he came to the Mermaid Inn Master Shakspere's comedy was done,
and Master Ben Jonson was telling a merry tale that made the tapster
sick with laughing.

CHAPTER XXXIII

CICELY DISAPPEARS

That Master Will Shakspere sh