The Tavern Knight | Page 6

side, and complain I will. We shall see whether the King permits an old
soldier who has followed the fortunes of his family these eighteen years
to be flouted by a malapert bantam of yesterday's brood!"
The subaltern paused in dismay. Some demur there was in the gathered
crowd. Then the officer fell back a pace, and consulted an elderly
trooper at his elbow. The trooper was of opinion that the fugitive must
have gone farther. Moreover, he could not think, from what Sir Crispin
had said, that it would have been possible for Hogan to have entered
the house. With this, and realizing that much trouble and possible loss
of time must result from Sir Crispin's obstinacy, did they attempt to
force a way into the house, and bethinking himself, also, maybe, how
well this rascally ruffler stood with Lord Middleton, the ensign
determined to withdraw, and to seek elsewhere.
And so he took his leave with a venomous glance, and a parting threat
to bring the matter to the King's ears, upon which Galliard slammed the

door before he had finished.
There was a curious smile on Crispin's face as he walked slowly to the
table, and resumed his seat.
"Master Stewart," he whispered, as he spread his cards anew, "the
comedy is not yet played out. There is a face glued to the window at
this moment, and I make little doubt that for the next hour or so we
shall be spied upon. That pretty fellow was born to be a thief-taker."
The boy turned a glance of sour reproof upon his companion. He had
not stirred from his chair while Crispin had been at the door.
"You lied to them," he said at last.
"Sh! Not so loud, sweet youth," was the answer that lost nothing of
menace by being subdued. "Tomorrow, if you please, I will account to
you for offending your delicate soul by suggesting a falsehood in your
presence. To-night we have a man's life to save, and that, I think, is
work enough. Come, Master Stewart, we are being watched. Let us
resume our game."
His eye, fixed in cold command upon the boy, compelled obedience.
And the lad, more out of awe of that glance than out of any desire to
contribute to the saving of Hogan, mutely consented to keep up this
pretence. But in his soul he rebelled. He had been reared in an
atmosphere of honourable and religious bigotry. Hogan was to him a
coarse ruffler; an evil man of the sword; such a man as he abhorred and
accounted a disgrace to any army - particularly to an army launched
upon England under the auspices of the Solemn League and Covenant.
Hogan had been guilty of an act of brutality; he had killed a man; and
Kenneth deemed himself little better, since he assisted in harbouring
instead of discovering him, as he held to be his duty. But 'neath the
suasion of Galliard's inexorable eye he sat limp and docile, vowing to
himself that on the morrow he would lay the matter before Lord
Middleton, and thus not only endeavour to make amends for his present
guilty silence, but rid himself also of the companionship of this

ruffianly Sir Crispin, to whom no doubt a hempen justice would be
meted.
Meanwhile, he sat on and left his companion's occasional sallies
unanswered. In the street men stirred and lanthorns gleamed fitfully,
whilst ever and anon a face surmounted by a morion would be pressed
against the leaded panes of the window.
Thus an hour wore itself out during which poor Hogan sat above, alone
with his anxiety and unsavoury thoughts.
CHAPTER II
ARCADES AMBO
Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and rose. It
was close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's advent. In the streets
the sounds had gradually died down, and peace seemed to reign again
in Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin cautious - for to be cautious and
mistrustful of appearances was the lesson life had taught him.
"Master Stewart," said he, "it grows late, and I doubt me you would be
abed. Give you good night!"
The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then -
"To-morrow, Sir Crispin - " he began. But Crispin cut him short.
"Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. Take
one of those noisome tapers with you, and go."
In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing bottles and
passed out through the door leading to the stairs.
For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in that
moment the expression of his face was softened. A momentary regret
of his treatment of the boy stirred in him. Master Stewart might be a
milksop, but