mounted the last of a series of broad and
platform-like steps leading to the principal entrance. No sooner,
however, had the first of the attendants caught sight of the horseman's
cloak and broad-brimmed hat of the stranger, than he sprang up the
steps, and seized the garment, as the wearer was entering the hall. He
turned fiercely round at the assault; but the aggressor, whom De Guerre
now recognised as Springall, hung upon him too firmly to be easily
shaken off:--he drew his sword half out of its scabbard, and kept his
eye fixed upon the youth.

"I was sure of it! I was sure of it!" shouted Springall; "the cloak, the
hat--all! Now will I be even with thee for hanging me over the cliff,
like a poor fish in a heron's claw, and all for nothing."

"Go to, Springall," said De Guerre, coming up, pleased at observing that
the wrathful glance of the stranger had changed into a smiling
good-humoured look at the boy's harmless impetuosity: "Go to, Springall;
the double-dub and the Canary are in thine eyes, and in thy
scatter-pate. What could you know of this strange gentleman?"

"I vow by the compass," replied the boy, suffering his grasp on the
cloak to relax, as he gazed in no less amazement on the Cavalier; "we
are bewitched! all bewitched! I left you, sir, on your way to Gull's
Nest with wee Robin; and here you are keeping company with this very
hey-ho sort of--But by the Law Harry! he's off again!" exclaimed
Springall, whose astonishment had got the better of his watchfulness,
and who perceived, on turning round, that the mysterious gentleman had
disappeared.

"You are not going to be mad enough to follow any one into Sir Robert
Cecil's hall!" argued De Guerre, at the same time seizing Springall's
arm.

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! that I should ever live to see you, sir, in league
with a bogle! Why, I vow I had the mark of that devil's hand on me in
black lumps, just as if I was burnt with what our scourer calls
_ague-fortys_. As I am a living man, he went from off the brow of the
cliff, just like a foam-wreath."

"Pshaw! Spring; how can you or any one else tell 'who's who,' on a dark
night?"

"Could I be deceived in the cut of his jib or mainsail, ye'r honour? to
say nothing of the figure-head!--Am I a fool?"

"You are not over wise, just now, my gay sailor; so off to your
hammock."

"And must I see no more of that old gentleman?"

"Not to-night, Spring; perhaps to-morrow he may give you satisfaction,"
added Walte