man
handling it, each with the talisman between his fingers gazing through
the bars of this present hour at a pageant and phantasmagoria of his own
creating. At last it came to the hand of an old merchant, who held it a
moment or two, looking steadfastly upon it, then slowly put it down.

"Well," said he, "may God send you furthering winds, Sir Mortimer and
Sir John, and make their galleons and galliasses, their caravels and
carracks, as bowed corn before you! Those of your company who are to
die, may they die cleanly, and those who are to live, live nobly, and
may not one of you fall into the hands of the Holy Office."

"Amen to that, Master Hudson," quoth Arden.

"The Holy Office!" cried a Banbury man. "I had a cousin, sirs,--an
honest fellow, with whom I had gone bird's-nesting when we were boys
together! He was master of a merchantman--the _Red Lion_--that by foul
treachery was taken by the Spaniards at Cales. The priests put forth
their hands and clutched him, who was ever outspoken, ever held fast to
his own opinion!... To die! that is easy; but when I learned what was
done to him before he was let to die--" The speaker broke off with an
oath and sat with fixed gaze, his hand beating upon the table a
noiseless tattoo.

"To die," said Mortimer Ferne slowly. "To die cleanly, having lived
nobly--it is a good wish, Master Hudson! To die greatly--as did your
cousin, sir,--a good knight and true, defending faith and loyalty, what
more consummate flower for crown of life? What loftier victory, supremer
triumph? Pain of body, what is it? Let the body cry out, so that it
betray not the mind, cheat not the soul into a remediless prison of
perdition and shame!"

He drank of his wine, then with a slight laugh and wave of his hand
dismissed a subject too grave for the hour. A little later he arose with
his guests from the table, and since time was passing and for some there
was much to do, men began to exchange farewells. To-morrow would see the
adventurers gone from England; to-day kinsmen and friends must say
good-by, warmly, with clasping of hands and embracing, even with tears,
for it was an age when men did not scorn to show emotion. A thousand
perils awaited those who went, nor for those who stayed would time or
tide make tarrying. It was most possible that they who parted now would
find, this side eternity, no second inn of meeting.

From his perch beside the door, the boy in blue and silver watched his
master's