Sea-Dogs All!

by Tom Bevan

  Chapter X.

  MASTER WINDYBANK REBELS.

  Andrew Windybank slunk away through the forest homewards. He had setout to play the man; he sidled in through his own gateway like awhipped puppy. Not once during his ride did he look back, and heneither hurried nor loitered; the former he would not, and the latterhe dared not do, for he felt that Basil was watching him. Never for aninstant did he lose the consciousness that the beady, black eyes wereupon him. He felt them like two hot points in the middle of his back;they burned and bored, and the flesh seemed to shrink away from thembeneath the taut skin.

  For some time the sounds of the hunt came to his ears, but he heededthem not. "I am out of the hunt in all ways," he said bitterly."Bugle-calls are not for me."

  There is no more pitiable object than a man suffering under mental andmoral defeat. He has lost faith in himself. He has tried, he hasfailed; and he usually throws his defeat in the face of Providence,accusing the Almighty of desertion. Windybank did so. Desperate withanger and humiliation, he went to his own private sanctum. FatherJerome and Basil were already there, awaiting him. Windybank could notrepress a start of surprise when he found that the ex-monk hadoutstripped him. He had hoped for a few minutes of quiet thoughtbefore facing Jerome. A quick wave of anger swept over him when herealized how closely he was "shadowed." His footsteps dogged if hewent abroad; his privacy was broken, without so much as a "by yourleave," if he stayed at home; he was treated as a puppet, a cat's-paw,a thing that must move only according to the will of another. A flashof light showed him the utter depth of his degradation; and the twobasilisks that sat staring and motionless before him were theinstruments that had accomplished his undoing. A wild yearning forfreedom and vengeance arose in his heart.

  "We have been waiting for thee since early morn, my son," said Jerome,breaking the silence. The tone of the speaker's voice was cold, hard,and threatening. The menace in it stung Windybank into rebellion.

  "And why should ye not wait?" he cried. "Who, in God's name, are ye toestablish yourselves unbidden in my house, dog my steps, threaten me,ruin me with my friends and neighbours, and treat me as though I were achild without will, aims, or desires of mine own? Ye have tarried forme; tarry on until doomsday. Henceforth I'll be master of myself!"Furious with passion, Master Andrew turned to the door.

  The effect of this outburst was electric. Jerome sat as one stupefied,and for a bare instant Basil gazed as stonily as he; but he recoveredin time to prevent the young man's departure. The yellow-faced fanaticwas as quick-handed as he was quick-witted. Windybank had lifted thelatch, and his fingers were on the door pulling it open. Basil drewhis dagger, held it, poised, by the blade for a moment, then cast itwith great force and precision. Master Andrew felt a hot pain in hishand, tried to pluck it back to his body, and failed; it was pinnedfast to the door. Basil came forward, drew out the dagger, and led hishost to the feet of Father Jerome.

  "Thou art drunk," he said meaningly--"drunk with the poison of awench's flattery. Down on thy knees and crave forgiveness!"

  But the master of Dean Tower was thoroughly aroused, and was not to becowed by a word. He threw Basil from him, and, wounded and bleedingthough his hand was, he contrived to draw his sword.

  "I'll kneel for forgiveness to no man living!" he cried. "Get ye frommy house, or I will drive ye forth!"

  Jerome had recovered from his astonishment; he rose up and laid hishand gently on the young man's shoulder. "Thou art beside thyself forthe nonce, my son. Let us talk calmly. A host does not draw sword onhis guests."

  The words were uttered in a smooth, purring tone, and Andrew loweredhis hand. He was glad to do it, for it throbbed with pain, and theblood was falling in a quick drip to the floor. His head was reeling,and he spoke stutteringly.

  "Ye are not guests of mine; ye are intruders," he cried.

  Jerome tried to press him into a chair, but he resisted. "Hands off,father! I can stand."

  The Spaniard made no further attempt to coerce the maddened younggentleman, but he took a kerchief from his doublet and carefully boundup the wounded limb.

  "A drop of wine, son Basil, for our friend," he said.

  Basil went to a cabinet, but Windybank cried out,--

  "Touch nothing of mine, thou devil's cub! Dost think I would drinkought from thy hands! When wilt thou be gone, as I have bidden thee?If thou dost not quit, I will run thee through."

  Jerome saw that the presence of Basil was a continual irritant to thedesperate man, so he himself ordered his satellite to withdraw. Basilobeyed with no very good grace, and the look that Windybank receivedboded ill. Jerome now placed his victim in a cosy chair, threw openthe casement that the fresh breeze from the woods might enter, andbrought the glass of wine he had ordered. Master Andrew drank it, thenlay back with closed eyes, his brain busy with tumultuous thought. TheSpaniard sat and watched him as a wolf might watch a slumbering dog;his brain was as busy as that of the other. Was his plan doomed tofailure at the last moment? If the master of Dean Tower failed him atso critical a juncture, he could not see how to proceed. More thanever did the conspirators require a place of refuge, not only forthemselves, but for others whom Jerome was daily expecting.

  Father Jerome got up and quietly left the room, proceeding to anante-chamber where he knew Basil was lurking.

  "Well?" asked the latter when he saw his chief.

  "Thou hast been too harsh and hasty, my son. The meanest man will turnto bay if his dignity is wounded too sorely. We have found MasterWindybank weak and pliable, and we have been too contemptuous of hismanhood. He hath a little, and that last blow of thine has aroused it."

  Basil fell on his knees in contrition. "Forgive me!" he murmured.

  Jerome raised him up and gave him a perfunctory kiss on the forehead.

  "We can forgive faults that arise from excess of zeal," he replied,"and we must have patience with the weak-kneed; a time will come whenwe shall be able to visit their sins upon them. At present we mustplay the loving friend; we can be the merciless judge at the opportunemoment. Get thee to Gatcombe, my son. Watch the admiral well, andsend the messenger thou wottest of down to Chepstow to learn if therebe any tidings of our friends from Ireland. The time for action isfully come; the foresters are lulled again to security; we must strikeas speedily as possible. I shall expect thee at midnight to-morrow.Meantime I will bring back our host to a sense of his duty andreligion."

  Basil bent one knee to receive his superior's blessing. "Benedicite!"murmured Jerome.

  His subordinate seized his hand and pressed it to his lips. "I amforgiven, father?" he asked.

  "Forgiven and blessed," answered Jerome. "Go! and the Holy Virginwatch over thee."

  Basil pulled his hood over his face, opened a small oak door whosehinges had been generously oiled, and disappeared amongst the trees.Jerome went back to Windybank.