Martin Conisby

Adam blenched and (for the first time in my remembrance) his keen eyes quailed before mine, and over his bronzed face, from aggressive chin to prominent brow, crept a slow and painful red.

"Martin," said he, his eyes steady again, "I will confess to you that is my blood-brother and comrade sworn, I have--thought better of--of her than any proud lady or duchess of 'em all--"

"Despite the foul and shameful lie you heard her utter?"

"Despite everything, Martin."

"Then God help you, Adam!"

"Amen," said he.

"You are surely crazed--"

"Why, very well, Martin, though you know me for a timid man--"

"Tush!" quoth I, turning my back on him.

"And a cautious, more especially in regard to women, having known but few and understanding none. Thus, Martin, though I seem crazed and foolish, 'tis very well, so long as I have eyes to see and ears to hear, and now I'll away and use 'em awhile. And here," said he, rising as a knock sounded on the door, "should be an old friend o' yours that got himself something scorched on your account." And opening the door he disclosed a squat, broad-shouldered fellow of a sober habit, his head swathed in a bandage, but the eyes of him very round and bright and his wide mouth up-curving in a smile.

"Godby!" said I, and reached but my hand to him.

"Why, Mart'n!" cried he. "Oh, pal--here's j'y, choke me wi' a rammer else! Lord, Mart'n--three years--how time doth gallop! And you no whit changed, save for your beard! But here's me wi' a fine stocked farm t'other side Lamberhurst--and, what's more, a wife in't as be sister to Cecily as you'll mind at the 'Hoppole'--and, what's more, a blessed infant, pal, as I've named Tom arter myself, by reason that my name is God-be-here, and Mart'n arter you, by reason you are my pal and brought me all the good fortun' as I ever had. Aha, 'twas a mortal good hour for me when we first struck hands, Mart'n."

"And you're more than quits, Godby, by saving me from the fire--"

"Why, pal, you fell all of a swound, d'ye see, and there's my Lady Brandon and t'other 'un a-running to fetch ye, flames or no--so what could I do--"

"My lady Joan?"

"Aye and t'other 'un--the Spanish dame as you come up a-cuddling of, Mart'n--and a notable fine piece she be, as I'm a gunner--"

"Is my lady on deck?"

"Which on 'em, pal?"

"Joan, man--my Lady Brandon!"

"Aye, and mighty downcast by her look. 'Godby,' says she to me a while back, 'if I find not my father now, I do think my poor heart will break!' And the sweet sad eyes of her, pal--"