liking?" the sailor asked of his
companion.

"No," was the sharp response.

"Neither is it to mine; although, mind you, I have seen these same
Papishers play some devil's tricks on good Protestants. Paignton Rob,
whom I seek, hath a head ill-balanced by the loss of an ear and its
ear-ring, because the priests chose to set a mark upon him. But thou
and I are of more generous blood; we have seen the world, and found
honest men in all religions--ay, and rogues in them all too. Let us
get to thine inn and drink a flagon of Gloster ale to all tolerant
souls, whether they call the Pope 'Father' or 'Devil.'"

The sallow-faced man made no answer, but pushed on beside his burly
companion.

Chapter XXV.

BROTHER BASIL.

Dan Pengelly, the sailor with the Cornish patronymic and Devonian
birthplace, found an excellent boon companion in the little
sallow-faced fellow who had overtaken him a few miles south of
Gloucester. And he found the "New Inn," boastful of having given a
night's lodging to the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, an expensive
but comfortable tavern. Its dimensions were goodly, its position a
sheltered one, its kitchens ample and well-managed, and its October ale
beyond reproach. At first the little man in black doublet and hosen
was inclined to be moody and taciturn; the public whipping, apparently,
had seared his kindly and humane temperament. But jolly Dan poured
oil--not to say ale--on the wounds and eased them. As it was neither
dinner-time nor supper-time, the sailor ordered a repast ample enough
for both, and fell to his trencher with hearty good will. His
companion did his best to emulate him, and for a spare man did
excellently. Dan paid the reckoning.

They spent a merry evening. As far as the sailor was concerned, when
ale went in, wit went out; he poured out confidences, and was artfully
led into babbling secrets he had never intended to disclose. To all
appearances the little man was just as communicative; he talked glibly
enough about places in France, Holland, and Spain, and answered a score
of eager questions about Antwerp, Amsterdam, Paris, Lisbon, Cadiz, and
other places. But when Pengelly reeled off to his mattress of fragrant
hay he knew nothing definite about his comrade--neither name, station,
occupation, nor religious or political opinions. On the other hand,
the sallow man knew Dan's lineage for four generations back, at least;
knew his hopes, fears, recent deeds--