ream, and
thanked Heaven all this had not fallen an hour earlier.

They searched upstairs and downstairs, in the wet cellar, and in the
maiden's chamber. They peeped in the cupboards, and up the chimneys,
and put their heads out on the roof. Then, when they were satisfied, I
asked would they like to spy in my pockets, whereat they departed
somewhat ruffled, and left me to breathe again.

Late that night I stood on board the _Misericorde_. The captain was on
the look-out for me.

"By your leave," said he, "you be none too early, comrade. Your fellow
'prentice,"--here he gave me a knowing look--"hath been here this hour,
and is in his berth."

So I went below, and there lay Ludar sound asleep in a hammock, in the
very cabin where he and I had lain once before.

About midnight I could hear the grinding of the anchor chain at the
bows, which was music to my ears, as was the heavy trampling on deck,
and the shouting, and the dabbling of the water at the ports. Amidst it
all, I too fell asleep; and when I woke and stood next day on deck, I
could see on our right the sullen forts on the Medway, and, behind, the
long, low, green line of the Essex mud banks.

Ludar was there before me, pacing restlessly with troubled brow. The
joy of his freedom had vanished before the sad memories which crowded
the ship.

"Humphrey," said he, presently, "when and where is all this to end? How
does it bring us nearer to our heart's desires?"

"Indeed," said I, with a sigh, "'tis a long way round. Yet, patience;
the farther East the nearer West."

He looked at me, as much as to say he knew I was not such a fool as my
words showed me.

"And after Rochelle," said he, "what then?"

"Time enough when we are there," said I.

Time enough, indeed!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

HOW THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA CAME INTO BRITISH WATERS.

We had scarce got our head round the South Foreland, when there met us a
gale of wind, such as boded ill enough for our quick voyage to Rochelle.
June as it was, it was as cold as March, and along with the rain came
sleet and hail, which tempted us to wonder if winter were not suddenly
come instead of summer.

I feared good man Petrie, the captain, would run for shelter into Dover
or some English port where (who knows?) Ludar might be seen and taken.
But instead of that he stood out stoutly for the French coast, and after
a week's battle with the waves put in, battered and leaking, at Dieppe.
There we