at the air was still and windless; so that wherever
she was, the _Misericorde_ could be getting little help from her canvas.
And if she were only drifting on the tide, why should not I with my
oars make as good or better pace than she?

Yet I confess I was sorely vexed to think that they had gone without me;
and when I remembered further that I had the lady's purse with me, I
could have thrown myself, in despair, over my boat's side. What would
they think and say of me!

I could see the waterman's boat behind me come through the Bridge, and
guessed well enough that some other craft near it were joining in the
pursuit. So I pulled desperately, and made my boat fly down the stream.
Yet ever as I turned and looked ahead there was no sign of the
_Misericorde_. Worse still, a flutter of breeze on my brow showed that
the wind was already coming, and then, I knew I might row my arms off,
and never catch her. The dogged waterman behind me still held on and
seemed to be gaining. Little wonder if he did, for I had been rowing
all night, and now my arms began to flag. Yet what was his stake on
this race compared with mine? So away down the stream I pulled past
Deptford, and the Queen's Palace at Greenwich (Heaven save her!) turning
my looks now forward, now backward, and praying each minute for a sight
of the _Misericorde_. A little past Greenwich I was near meeting my
end; for, looking eagerly for a sight of my pursuers behind, I failed to
perceive a boat crossing the river ahead of me; nor was it till my
boat's nose struck her full in the side that I was aware of the
obstacle. The man and woman in the boat (which seemed to be a floating
pedlar's shop plying among the ships), swore at me roundly, and I had
much ado to persuade them that no harm was done, and that if any one had
a right to complain, I had. I was rowing on, to put an end to the
parley, when my eye caught sight of a bundle of garments on the boat's
poop.

"Stay," cried I, "to show I bear you no malice, I will even make a
purchase of you, if you have what I require."

"Name it," said they, doubtfully.

"Have you a cloak, warm enough and smart enough, to wrap my poor old
mother in, when I take her on the water?" said I.

"That have we," cried the woman, fumbling in the heap, "but 'tis more
than you will pay."

"How much?" I remanded.

She said a half-angel; but when I too eagerly pulled out my mistress's
purse to pay her, her eyes gleamed and she