ime we met, I played you an unfair trick," said he. His tone
bespoke the very highest good-humour. He slipped his arm through
Richard's. "Never bear an old man malice, lad," said he.

"I assure you that I bear you none," said Richard, relieved to find that
Trenchard apparently knew nothing of his defection, yet wishing that
Trenchard would go his ways, for Richard's task was to stand sentry
there.

"I'll not believe you till you afford me proof," Trenchard replied. "You
shall come and wash your resentment down in the best bottle of Canary
the White Cow can furnish us."

"Not now, I thank you," answered Richard.

"You are thinking of the last occasion on which I drank with you," said
Trenchard reproachfully.

"Not so. But... but I am not thirsty."

"Not thirsty?" echoed Trenchard. "And is that a reason? Why, lad, it is
the beast that drinks only when he thirsts. And in that lies one of the
main differences between beast and man. Come on"--and his arm effected a
gentle pressure upon Richard's, to move him thence. But at that moment,
down the street with a great rumble of wheels, cracking of whips
and clatter of hoofs, came a coach, bearing to Mr. Newlington's King
Monmouth escorted by his forty life-guards. Cheering broke from the
crowd as the carriage drew up, and the Duke-King as he alighted
turned his handsome face, on which shone the ruddy glow of torches, to
acknowledge these loyal acclamations. He passed up the steps, at the top
of which Mr. Newlington--fat and pale and monstrously overdressed--stood
bowing to welcome his royal visitor. Host and guest vanished, followed
by some six officers of Monmouth's, among whom were Grey and Wade.
The sight-seers flattened themselves against the walls as the great
lumbering coach put about and went off again the way it had come, the
life-guards following after.

Trenchard fancied that he caught a sigh of relief from Richard, but the
street was noisy at the time and he may well have been mistaken.

"Come," said he, renewing his invitation, "we shall both be the better
for a little milk of the White Cow."

Richard wavered almost by instinct. The White Cow, he knew, was
famous for its sack; on the other hand, he was pledged to Sir Rowland
to stand guard in the narrow lane at the back where ran the wall of Mr.
Newlington's garden. Under the gentle suasion of Trenchard's arm, he
moved a few steps up the street; then halted, his duty battling with his
inclination.