s
foes than by his friends--and another story of deep repentance and of
God's path, which is not our path;--and Francis Drake hath indeed
changed overnight if he make of this a quarrel between him and John
Nevil, or if he be not generously moved towards this gentleman whom I
count as my friend and follower!"

"I will wait," said Drake, after a pause. "Give you good-day, sir. Your
service to our sick is known, and for it our thanks are due. At the
present I can say no more."

Ferne bowed in silence, then, with Nevil, left the room for the hall
below, where the startled sergeant and his men saluted indeed Sir John
Nevil, but kept their eyes upon the figure at his side.

Nevil, beckoning to the sergeant, drew off a few paces and gave in a
lowered voice instructions to be borne to Captain Powell. Then the one
knight mounted to the room where Drake awaited him, and the other went,
guarded, through the tropic morn to the fevered and the restless, who
yearned for him as the sick may yearn, and to the hut where Arden strove
to restrain Robin-a-dale's cries for his master.

XII

During the afternoon came an order to Captain Powell that the sick youth
should be taken to Sir Mortimer Ferne's apartment in the house where
lodged Master Arden. Thus it was that in the cooler air before sunset a
litter was borne through the streets of Cartagena. In addition to the
bearers and some other slight attendance there walked with it Sir John
Nevil and Captain Powell, Giles Arden and Sir Mortimer Ferne. Sometimes
the latter laid his hand upon the youth's burning forehead, sometimes
upon the lips which would have babbled overmuch. Bearers and escort
stared and stared. One who had been about the spital, and had seen a
brother brought from under the shadow of death, repeatedly stumbled
because he could not take his eyes from the friar become English
gentleman--become friend of so great a gentleman as Sir John Nevil.

The little procession turned one corner, then another. Sir Mortimer
touched Nevil's arm. "There's a shorter way--down this narrow street we
are passing."

"Ay," Nevil answered; "but let us go by the way of the market-place."

His thought was that none too soon could occur general recognition that
Sir Mortimer Ferne dwelt in the English camp and walked with English
leaders. The square, as it proved, was no desert. The hour was one of
some relaxation, relief from the sun, and from the iron discipline of
Drake, who, for the