Part 23 (1/2)
”Whom do you wish to see?”
”Some relatives named Stevens.”
”Is your name Stevens?”
”It is, sir.”
”And you are from Virginia?” the old man asked.
”Verily, you have guessed it, sir. Who may you be?”
Without answering him, the strange swordsman seized his arm, saying:
”Come with me; I am going to the house of Mathew Stevens. What is your father's name?”
”John Stevens was his name; but he is dead. He went on a voyage and was lost at sea when I was quite young.”
”And your grandfather was--”
”Philip Stevens, the friend of Captain John Smith.”
”I know of him. We will go to the home of your relatives.” He led Robert over the hill toward a neat looking house, one of the best in Boston.
The old man was nervous and frequently halted to look about, as if expecting pursuit.
”Surely you have no one to fear?” said Robert.
”Whom should I fear--the man whose face I plastered with mud? I carry a sword at my side, and he could not fight me in a single combat.”
”But he said something. He called you a name.”
”What name?”
”Goffe.”
”What know you of Goffe, pray?”
”I have heard of him. My mother's husband frequently spoke of him as a regicide.”
The swordsman gazed on him for a moment, and asked:
”Do you know what a regicide is?”
”A king-killer.”
”Well, my young cavalier, when a king has been convicted of treason, should he not suffer death as the humblest peasant in the land?”
”He should,” cried Robert, on whose republican soul the argument fell with a delightful sensation. ”A king is but a man and no better than the poorest in the realm.”
”Ha! young cavalier from Virginia, dare you utter those words in your own colony?”