Ferne raised his eyes. "I call it by no such fine name," he said. "I but
know that if he yet lives, then he and what other Englishmen are left
alive do cry out for deliverance, looking towards the sea, thinking,
'Where is now a friend?'" He left the table and came near to Arden.
"'Twas a kindly impulse sent you here, old comrade of mine; but now will
you go? The dead and I hold Ferne House of nights. To-morrow come again
and say good-by."

"I will sail with you to the Indies, Mortimer," said the visitor.

There was silence in the room; then, "No, no," answered Ferne, in a
strange voice. "No, no."

Arden persisted, speaking rapidly, carrying it off with sufficient
lightness. "He was just home from Ireland and stood in need of the sun.
His cousin wanted him not; John Nevil was in the north and had helpers
enough. The slaying of Spaniards was at once good service and good
sport. Best take him along for old time's sake. Indeed, he asked no
better than to go--" On and on he talked, until, looking up, his speech
was cut short by the aspect of the man before him.

If in every generation the house of Ferne, father and son, could wear a
dark face when occasion warranted, certainly in this moment that of the
latest of his race was dark indeed. "And at the first pinch be betrayed.
Awake, or here, or there, in the torments of Spain or in another world!
Awake and curse me by all your gods! Speak not to me--I am not hungry
for a friend! I have no faith to pledge against your trust! The rabble
which await me upon my ship, I have bought them with my gold, and they
know me, who I am. For Robin--God help the boy! He had a fever, and he
would not cease his cries until I sware not to part from him. Robin,