he Cardinal, tell him that Ercolo Amadeo Sparafucile
di San Lorenzo is not to be purchased. The sly old Fox! He knows I have
great influence with my Uncle the Grand Master. Tell him that I am very
much obliged to him for his Offer, and thank him for old Acquaintance'
sake. Nay; I believe I am some kind of Kinsman of his Eminence, on the
Mother's side. But assure him that I am not in the least Angry with him.
If I were Poor, I should probably accept his Offer; but none of the Poor
Knights of our Order are worth Buying. It matters little to me whether
France, or Spain, or even Heretic England gets hold of this scorching
Rock, with its Swarms of Hussies and Rascals; only I prefer amusing
myself, and fighting the Turks, to meddling in Politics, and running the
risk of a life-long dungeon in the Castle of St. Elmo."

There was a long Silence after this, and he seemed plunged in profound
Meditation. Suddenly he fills a Cup with Wine, drains it, and, in his
old careless manner, says to me,

"Tell him this--be sure to tell him, lest he should be at the trouble of
sending Emissaries to Poison me--I have the best Antidote of any in the
Levant, and shall take three drops of it after every Bite and Sup for
Six Months to come. Not that I dread you. All Spy as you are, you still
look like an Honest Fellow. _You_ would not poison an old Friend, would
you, Little JACK DANGEROUS?"

I started to my feet, and stared at the grizzled, handsome Knight in
blank amazement. We had been conversing in the French tongue; but the
latter part of his Speech he had uttered in mine own English, and with a
faultless accent. Moreover, where before had I heard that Voice, had I
seen that Face? My Memory rolled back over the hills and valleys of
years; but the Mountains were too high, and the Recesses behind them
inaccessible without Mental Climbing, for which I was not prepared.

"Little Jack Dangerous," continued the grizzled Knight, "where have you
been these Seven-and-thirty Years? When I knew you first, you were but a
poor little Runaway Schoolboy, and I was a Tearing Fellow in the Flush
and Pride of my hot Youth."

"A Runaway Schoolboy!" I stammered.

"Ay! had you not fled from the Tyranny of one Gnawbit?"

"I remember Gnawbit well," I answered, with a shudder.

"Do you remember Charlwood Chase, and the Blacks that were wont to kill
Venison there?"

"I do."

"And Mother Drum, and Cicely, and Jowler, and the Night Attack, and how
near you