Part 16 (2/2)

”A many,” replied Idonia, ”though I have not their names.”

The Captain turned aside to his lieutenant with some whispered word of offence that made the fellow smile broadly; and at that I could no further refrain myself.

”Stay within the limits of your commission, sir,” said I hotly, ”and keep your jests for other seasons.”

He troubled not so much as to turn his head my way, but took up his examination of Idonia again.

”Nor you know not their trades either, I suppose?” said he with a sneer.

”Saving this man's here present,” replied the girl, ”who keeps the books of accompt in a great merchant's counting-house.”

You may judge whether I gasped at that, or no; and perhaps the Captain noted my alarm, for he inquired at once who the merchant might be I served.

”'Tis Mr. Edward Osborne,” said Idonia, ”unless I mistake.”

”It is,” said I, and remembering Mr. Nelson's words, added boldly that he was Governor of the Turkey Company; but inwardly I said, ”Whither doth this lying tend?”

”And what purposeth he in this house?” demanded the soldier, somewhat taken aback by our credible answers.

”What, but to learn me in the keeping of accompts?” replied she.

”Ah, an apt scholar, I doubt not,” cried the other, raising his chin insolently.

”I think I am not so backward for a maid,” said Idonia modestly, and reached forth her hand to the great ledger-book I had so maligned; the which I now saw turned to an engine of our salvation; for opening it at the former place she continued:

”He instructs me that herein is set down the merchant's commerce with one Mendoza, a wool-stapler of Antwerp, and a Jew, who despite the scandal of his unbelief, is, as appeareth plainly, an honest man. I pray you, sir, follow me,” said she, and directed him to the page, ”to the end you may correct me if I be in error.”

I never saw a man's countenance fall so as the Captain's did then; who having formerly stood so stiff upon his right, was now ready to compound upon almost any terms; only Idonia would not, but interrupted his pish's, and his well-well's, and go-to's, with a clear exposition of the whole matter of wool, the while I, her supposed tutor, stood by with open mouth and a heart charged with admiration of her wit.

”Enough,” shouted the Captain, at last. ”I came not hither for this, as you know, mistress, who are either the completest accountant or else the prettiest wanton this side Bridewell Dock. Halberdiers, have a care!” cried he, and so returning to them with a curse, marshalled them into a body and would have withdrawn them forthwith, when a cry from one of the chambers aloft suddenly sounding out, he ordered them again to stand to their arms and ran forward to the foot of the stairs. I chanced to look at Idonia then, and blessed Heaven that her examination was done, and all eyes save mine averted from her, for she shook like one in a palsy and staggered backward to the wall. I had bare leisure to follow her thither and support her, before the whole troop of those that had gone above returned down, bearing along with them in their midst a man whom they held, or rather dragged along with them, so without strength was he, and all aghast.

”A good capture,” said the Captain in his slow, cruel voice, and bade the guard stand back from the abject fellow, but be ready to prevent his escape. ”I thought not to have had so fair a fortune,” said he, ”although our information was exact enough that you lay here, Master Jesuit, whom I believe to be (and require you to answer to it) that notorious Jacques de Courcy, by some called Father Jacques, a Frenchman and plotting Jesuit.”

”I am a poor schoolmaster of Norfolk,” said the man, very humbly.

”Do you deny you are this Courcy, and a devilish Papist?” asked the Captain again.

The prisoner looked around wildly, as if he hoped even now to get free, but the ring about him was too close for that, and the pikes all levelled at his breast. Something of the dignity which despair will throw over a man that hath come into the extreme of peril, sustained him mercifully then, so that he who was before but a pitiful shrinking coward, became (and so remained to the end) a figure not all unmeet to the part he played.

”Were I to recite my creed,” said he very low, ”you would but make mock of it; while for yourself, I see you be already minded to work your will upon me.”

”We go no further than our Prince commands us,” said the other loftily.

”And I, no further than my Prince hath enjoined long since,” said the Jesuit.

”Pis.h.!.+ words!” replied the Captain. ”Do you still persist in denying that you are Jacques de Courcy?”

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