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 guests step into the sunlight and go away. A throng had
gathered in front of the tavern, for the most part of those within were
men of note, and Sir John Nevil's adventure to the Indies had long been
general talk. Singly or in little groups the revellers issued from the
tavern, and for this or that known figure and favorite the crowd had its
comment and cheering. At last all were gone save the adventurers
themselves, who, having certain final arrangements to make, stayed to