"The man who lives here with you—what of him? Is he not an enemy of God?"
"Mr Darrell is of the Romish faith," said I, smiling in spite of myself, for a kinder soul than Darrell I had never met.
Phineas came close to me, leaning over me with an admonishing forefinger and a mysterious air.
"What did he want with you?" he asked. "Yet cleave to him. Be where he is, go where he goes."
"If it comforts you, I am going where he goes," said I, yawning. "For we are both going to Dover when the King goes."
"It is God's finger and God's will!" cried Phineas, catching me by the shoulder.
"Enough!" I shouted, leaping up. "Keep your hands off me, man, if you can't keep your tongue. What is it to you that we go to Dover?"
"Aye, what?" came suddenly in Darrell's voice. He stood in the doorway with a fierce and angry frown on his face. A moment later he was across the room and laid his hand on Phineas. "Do you want another cropping of your ears?" he asked.
"Do your will on me," cried the fanatic. And sweeping away his lanky hair he showed his ears; to my horror they had been cropped level across their tops by the shears. "Do your will," he shrieked, "I am ready. But your hour comes also, yea, your cup shall soon be full."