wife and little ones, my faithful friend'--these were his
words--'and Heaven will reward thy faithful service.' It seemed to me,
Humphrey, that when he spoke of the viper, he meant thee. Pray Heaven I
may be wrong." Fancy if I felt merry at this speech! But that I knew
by the blink of his eyes the rogue was lying, I could have saved the
gallows a job. As it was, I flung him aside and went into the house.

No one but the 'prentices were stirring; so I sat in the shop and
waited. It cost me a pang to see the gourmands devour their breakfast,
with never a bite for myself; yet, since Peter Stoupe was of the
company, it would have cost me a greater pang to eat, had any been
offered me--which it was not. For a round hour I sat there, like a
hungry bear, neither speaking nor spoken to, when at last there came the
sound of a halting footstep on the stairs.

It was my sweet little mistress, and at sight of me she broke forth into
crying and laughing.

"Oh, he has come! _Maman! voici notre bon Humphrey_. Why did you stay
so long? Why were you not there to save our _pauvre pere_? Oh, I am
glad to have you back. We shall be happy again."

And she put up her face to be kissed, which I did with beating heart;
for she had never looked to me so sweet, nor had her voice sounded so
like music to my ears.

"They said you had deserted us," said she, "but I knew it was a bad lie.
Peter, _mechant_, what think you now, he has come back, our Humphrey?
Go and tell _maman_, and Prosper and the little ones."

You would have been sorry for Peter at that! His face was glum enough
when I kissed my little mistress; but it looked fairly ugly when she
sent him on this errand. What cared I? There were some yet who thought
not ill of Humphrey Dexter.

Mistress Walgrave, my dear mistress, received me sadly yet kindly.
Whether she had believed the false tales of my fellow 'prentice or not,
I know not. But she had nothing but welcome for me when she heard my
story. And when it was done she told me how she wished I had been home
when all the trouble happened.

"'Tis as well this journey of yours failed," said she. "It might have
brought us even greater peril. Your master is too busy a man; one press
was not enough for him, nor one libel. What they took was I know not
what, some lamentable complaint, far less harmful than that we sewed in
your cloak. How they knew of it, we know not."

"And what is to be done now?" I asked.