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 Crispin accounted him
leastways honest, and had a kindness for him in spite of all.
He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he leaned out,
as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the
refrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance
listeners.

For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the
occasion to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were
alert for the least movement among the shadows of the street.
Reassured at last that the house was no longer being watched,
he drew back, and closed the lattice.

Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his
bed, awaiting him.