at you understand me, Mr. Eubank. You will be
careful."

But the warning was needless. As man after man filed in and formed up
before him--all armed to the teeth, and all wild, reckless fellows in
sea-boots, nightcaps, and tarry jerkins--Eubank's craven heart melted
within him. Setting his pistol down on the settle, he stood speechless,
sallow, shaking with fear, such fear as almost stays the heart, yet
leaves the brain working--leaves the man created in God's image to be
dragged out to his death, writhing and shrieking--a sight to haunt brave
men's memories.

He was spared that, yet came near to it. "Mr. Eubank," said Birkenhead
sternly, "you will come with me. I have a sloop at the old
landing-place, and before daylight we shall be in Calais roads. There is
a cell in the Bastille waiting for you, and I shall see you in it. I'll
hold you a hostage for Bernardi."

The wretch shrieked and fell on his knees and grovelled, crying for
mercy; but Birkenhead only answered, "Get up, man, get up; or must my
men prick you?" And then to the others, "Mr. Hunt," he continued, "you
too must come with us. But have no fear. Believe me you will be better
there than here, and shall be well reported. Mr. Fayle and your daughter
will come, of course. Tie the others and leave them. And hurry, men,
hurry. Bring your money, Mr. Hunt; King James has none too much of that.
I can give you ten minutes to pack, and then we must be moving lest they
take the alarm in Romney."

As a fact they took no alarm in Romney. But a shepherd, belated that
night with a sick ewe, saw a long line of lanthorns go bobbing across
the marsh to the sea, and went home and told his neighbours that Hunt
was at his old tricks again. One of them, knowing that the soldiers were
there, laughed in his face and went to see, and learning the truth
carried the story into Romney, whence it spread to London and brought
down a mob of horse and foot and messengers, and from one end of England
to the other the descent and the audacity of it were a nine days'
wonder. However, by that time the nest was cold and the birds long
flown, and Birkenhead, with one more plume in his crest, was preening
his feathers at St. Germains.

THE TWO PAGES

(1580)

Yes, I have seen changes. When I first served at court, whither I went
in the year 1579--seven years after the St. Bartholomew--the King
received all in his bedchamber, and there every evening played primero
with his intima