CHAPTER XVII
JACK SCARLETT CALLS HIMSELF A FOOL
Wat and his companion passed along the deserted streets of Amersfort,keeping carefully to those which were darkest and least frequented.For a space neither spoke. But as they were crossing a wide, desertedsquare, the Little Marie broke the silence with a startling speech.
"I think by this time he will be dead," she said, simply, as though shehad said that it rained.
"Think _who_ will be dead?" queried Wat, stopping instantly and facingher.
"Why, your enemy!" replied the Little Marie, calmly; "but let us go onlest the watch should come by and stop us."
"My enemy!" exclaimed Walter, putting his hand to his brow like onebewildered.
"Aye," said Marie, "the man you showed me and told me was yourenemy--the dark man called Barra, the provost-marshal. I, the LittleMarie, struck him in the side with a knife as he was mounting his horseto ride away--methinks I know whither. At any rate, it was on an evilquest. He rides on no others. Did I not tell you that he was my enemybefore he was yours?"
"Struck my Lord Barra--with a knife, Marie?" stammered Wat. His slowNorthern blood had not dreamed of such swift vengeance.
"Aye," said the girl, anxiously; "did I not do right? He was mineenemy, true. He it was who first brought me hither, left me friendlessin this city of Satan, made me that which men think me. But had thatbeen all his fault he might have lived. After all, that sin was mine aswell as his. I struck him because he was your enemy, and because youhated him. Did I not well?"
"Marie," said Wat, very soberly, "you and I are as good as dead forthis. Did any see you strike?"
"Aye, marry, there were," she replied, carelessly; "but I was wellwrapped about in a red cloak and wore the cap and ear-plates of apeasant woman of Frisia. There were several that stood curiously aboutas I went near to hand him my petition at his own door. But what withthe night, the reeling of the torches, and the instant confusion, noneput out a hand to stay me as I went away. And I think he will surely bedead by this!"
She spoke the words dispassionately, like one who has done anunpleasing duty and has no further concern nor stake in the matter.
Instinctively their feet had turned into the street of Zaandpoort.Wat's heart suddenly leaped within him. He had come to see the housewhere he had been happy for a few hours. He would look just onceupon the window whence his love had often looked forth, and at thatother within which her dear head would even now be lying, sheddingsoft dishevelled curls distractingly over the pillow--ah! theheart-sickness! To think that never should he see it thus, never nowlay his own close beside it, as in wild visions of the night he hadoften dreamed of doing.
But there shone a light from the living-room of Will Gordon's lodging.Shadows moved restlessly across the blind. The house in ZaandpoortStreet was still awake and stirring.
Wat took a sudden resolution. He would risk all, and for the last timelook upon the woman he adored, even though he knew she loved him not.
"Hide here a moment, Marie," Wat said to his companion; "over there inthe dark of the archway. This is the house of my cousin, a soldier frommy own country of Scotland. I would bid him farewell before I go."
The young girl looked wistfully at him, and laid her hand quickly onher heart.
"Ah, it is the house of your love--I know it," she said, sadly andreproachfully; "and you have said so often that none loved you--thatnone cared for you."
Wat smiled the pale ghost of a smile, unseen in the darkness of thenight.
"It is true that once on a time I loved one dwelling in this house. Butshe loved me not--"
"It is impossible," moaned Marie. "I know that she must have lovedyou--"
"No, she loved me not," answered Wat; "but, as I think, she loved theman whom you--"
Wat stepped back into shadow, and Marie clutched his cloak with anervous hand. It was Will Gordon who came down the stairs. Haggered,unshaven, looking straight before him with set eyes, he was not thesame man who had come so cosily back from the guard-room of the palacethe night before with his wife upon his arm.
Wat advanced a pace out of the dark of the arch. He held out his hand.
"Will," he said, "with you I quarrelled not. And I think that if yourwife, who used to be so stanchly my friend, knew my broken heart, she,too, would forgive my hasty words, and be ready to understand evilappearances that were no more than appearances."
But Will Gordon did not take the outstretched hand which Wat held amoment in the air and then dropped sadly to his side.
"Tell me first," he said, "where you have hidden our Kate, and whatyou have to do with the killing of my Lord of Barra? After that I willeither take your hand or set my sword in your heart."
"Will Gordon!" cried Wat, starting back, "was it for this that we twokept Wellwood's men at bay under the arch at Holyrood? For this that welay shoulder to shoulder on the chill moors, that in these latter daysyou should charge me with crimes of which I know nothing? Hidden Kate?Why, is not Kate here, behind the glass of that window? Does she notsleep soundly, recking nothing of evil or the sorrow of others, uponher bed? Is not her maiden heart as ever free and careless--"
"Wat, I believe you, lad," said Will; "it was a hasty and ill-conceivedthought of mine. I know you love us all overmuch to bring harm to ourlassie. But, certainly, Kate is lost--has been carried off--and nowthey are seeking her everywhere, charging her, forsooth, with theslaying of my Lord Barra."
At the last words Wat laughed a little scornful laugh.
He had not yet taken in the terrible import of the news concerningKate's loss. But it seemed a foolishly monstrous thing that even injest she should be charged with the death of Barra, while not ten yardsbehind him, in the dark of the arched doorway, stood the Little Marie,with her dagger scarcely dry in her garter.
Then, after a moment, Will's first words suddenly came back to him, asif they had been echoed from the tall buildings which stood about them.
"You do not mean it--Kate gone?" he said, dully, and withoutcomprehension; "it is impossible. Who so wicked in all this land as tohave done the thing?"
Then Will told him all the tale of the false message and of theirhome-coming.
"It is Barra's trick--what other?" Wat said, at once; "I saw that heloved her--if such a poisonous reptile can love. But I thought not thateven he could devise her wrong, else had I slain him on the spot."
Wat meditated a little while in silence. "Did Kate tell you if he hadspoken aught to her of love?"
"He offered her the most honorable marriage, and yet greater thingswhen the prince should come to his own. But she would have none ofhim," replied Will Gordon.
"It is enough," cried Wat. "Certainly this is an affair of my lord's.Dead or alive, I will trace out his plots till I find his trail. It maybe, after all, but a matter of Haxo the Bull, his Calf, and his Killer.Give me no more than a sword and pistols, and my belt with the goldthat is in your strong-box."
"Will you not come up with me, Wat?" said Will Gordon. "Come, cousin."
"Nay," said Wat, "there is not time. It is but now that I have escapedfrom their prison. In an hour there will be the hue-and-cry, and thenthey will surely search your house. I must be far on the sea-road bydaybreak. Only furnish me with necessities, cousin mine, and let mego. My humblest service to your wife--but tell her not till after I amgone!"
Will Gordon went back up the stairs. Presently he was down againwith the weapons, with enough and to spare of ammunition, a loaf ofwheaten bread, a flask of wine, and the broad leathern belt with thegold-pieces, which slipped down like a weighty serpent as he laid it inWat's hands. The money had been kept sacred for just such an emergency.
The cousins bade each other a kindly adieu in the fashion of other andhappier times, and then Will Gordon returned sadly to his wife.
Wat stepped back to the shelter where he had left Marie, but she wasnot to be seen. He looked every way and called softly; but the girl hadvanished.
"It is perhaps as well!" he s
aid, the Scot's prudence within himwarring with his gratitude towards the girl who had twice risked herlife for him without thought of reward.
He took his way alone across the broad squares and over the canalsto Jack Scarlett's lodgings. There was a light in the window as heapproached. He knocked gently, and a gruff voice ordered him to comein, or else (as an equally satisfactory alternative) to proceedincontinently to quite other regions.
Wat entered, and there, seated upon the side of his bed, he foundScarlett with one boot off and the other still upon his foot. His eyeswere set in his head, and a kindly, idiotic smile was frozen on hisface.
At the sight of Wat, pale as death, with his clothes frayed anddisarranged with his long sojourn in prison, Scarlett started up. Witha vigorous wave of his hand he motioned his visitor away.
"Avaunt! as the clerks say. Get away, briskly, or I will say the Lord'sPrayer at thee (that's if I can remember it). Come not near a livingman. Wat Gordon in the flesh with a long sword was bad enough; but WatGordon dead, with an unshaven chin and clothed out of a rag-shop, isa thousand times worse. Alas, that it should come so soon to this! Iam shamed to be such a shaveling in my cups! Yet of a truth I drankonly seven bottles and a part of an eighth. This comes of being a poororphan, and being compelled to drink the most evil liquor of thisunfriendly country!"
"Scarlett," said Wat, seriously, "listen to me. I am going on a longquest. Will you come with me? I need a companion now as a man neverneeded comrade before! Mine enemy has stolen my love, and I go to findher!"
"Away--get away!" cried Scarlett. "I want not to die yet awhile. Idesire time to repent--that is, when I grow old enough to repent. Thereis Sergeant Hilliard over there at the end of the passage," he went on,eagerly, as if a famous idea had struck him, "his hair is gray, if youlike, and he has a most confounded gout. He will gladly accompany you.Be advised, kind ghost. Have the goodness to cross the stairway toHilliard. Remember, I was ever thy friend in life, Wat Gordon!"
"Beshrew your tipsy, idiot soul," thundered Wat, rising in a toweringpassion; "have you drunk so much that you know not a living man fromone dead and damned? I will teach thee the difference, and thatsharply."
And with that he went over to the bedside, and banged Scarlett's headsoundly against the rafters of the garret, exclaiming at every thumpand crash, "I pray you, Jack Scarlett, say when you are convinced thatWat Gordon is flesh and blood, and not an airy ghost."
It did not take much of this most potent logic to persuade theghost-seer that he had to do with Wat Gordon in his own proper andextremely able-bodied person.
"Enough!" he cried; "hold your hands, Wat. Could you not have said asmuch at first, and not stood gaping there like a week-old corpse doneup in a winding-sheet?"
"Thou donnert ass!" cried Wat. "Will you come with me on my quest, orwill you bide on here in Amersfort among putty-souled huxters teachingshambling recruits how to stand upon their legs?"
"Of a truth, Buchan's knaves are indeed most hopeless. Yet whither canI go? I know not of a better service," said Scarlett, shaking his headdoubtfully.
"But the adventure, man," cried Wat; "think of the adventure over seas,through continents, upon far islands, all in quest of a true lass thathath been trapped by devils, and may be treated most uncivilly. Itmakes me mad!"
"All these are most extremely well for you, Wat Gordon of Lochinvar.You are a younger man, and these bones of mine like well to lie on asoft bed at my age. Also, and chiefly, the lass is your lass, and notmine. Were you to find her to-morrow, what should I get out of all theerrant jackassery in the world?"
"John Scarlett," cried Wat, nodding his head, solemnly, "thy heartis grown no better than a chunk of fat lard. There is no spirit inthee any more. Go, turn over on thy side and snore, till it be timeto go forth once more to drill thy rotten sheep's regiment. God kens,'tis all you are good for now, to be bell-wether to such a shuffling,clod-hopping crew. 'Keep your head up! Fall not over your musket! Produp that man in the rear! I pray you do not hold your gun as if it werea dandling baby! March!' Pshaw! John Scarlett, is that the life for aman or for a puddle-rolling pig of the stye?"
Scarlett appeared to consider. He looked at the nails in the sole ofhis boot with an air of grave deliberation, as if they could help himto a decision.
"'Tis true, in truth most truly true," he said, "it is a dog's life.But, after all, there is ever the chance of war."
"War? And will not I give thee wars to fill thy belly, and leavesomething over for stuffing to thy calves?" cried Wat. "Why, man, thysword will never be in its sheath--fighting, seeking, spying, we willoverpass land and sea, hiding by heather and hill, creeping down by thebonny burnside to win our speckled breakfasts out of the pools--"
"Tush, man," answered Scarlett, pettishly, "for all you know, your Katemay be shut up in the next street. And besides, as I said, after all,she is your lass, not mine."
Wat stepped back with a fine gesture of renunciation.
"Well," he said, "has it come to this? Never did I think to see theday when Jack Scarlett--old Jack Scarlett of the wrist-of-steel--wouldturn sheep and be afraid to set his shoulder to Wat Gordon's, or evento cross blades with him, as he did the other night in the Inn ofBrederode. But old Jack has become no better than a gross, rotten,grease-lined crock, and--Lord, Lord, such a flock as he leads on paradeafter him!"
"S'blood! I will e'en break thy head, Wat, an' thou cease not thycackle. Now I will come with thee just to prove I am no sheep. No,nor craven either. But only the greatest and completest old fool thatever held a commission from a brave prince and one of the few goodpaymasters in Europe."
With this Jack Scarlett rose, and did upon him his cloak and all hisfighting-gear with an air grave and sullen, as though he were going tohis own beheading. Then he searched all his drawers and pockets formoney--which, in spite of the vaunted excellence of the paymaster'sdepartment, appeared to be somewhat scarce with the master-at-arms.Presently he announced himself as ready.
His decision took this shape:
"This is the excellentest fool's-errand in the world, and I the greaterfool to go with another fool upon it. Lead on, Wat Gordon."
So, grumbling and muttering, he followed Wat down the stairs.
"And now," said Scarlett, "pray, have you so much as thought upon ourneed of horses?"
"Nay," said Wat, "I have thought of naught but getting out of prison,finding a friend, and winning back my lass."
"Aye, marry," grunted Scarlett, "thy lass! Mickle hast thou thoughtof taking thy fool comrade away from the best pay-roll and the mostcomplaisant landlady he has found these thirty years."
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