Richard assented, and they trudged on silently for some time. The morning air cooled Dick's fevered pulse, and the exercise shook off the sort of dream that had taken hold of him. His sober reason began to awaken, and then, almost with the distinctness of a living voice, the words flashed back on him: "It is to secure the just liberties of the people of God that thou art pledged to live or die for it."
What had possessed him? Was he running mad? Was he to draw that sword that had fought for justice and liberty as the comrade of murderers and pirates? Had he sunk so low that he was willing to choose the company of a drunken ruffian; he who had been the comrade of Thomas Harrison? The dead hand still held his. The Fifth Monarchy might be a dream, the hope of a Republic an idle fancy, but he had not been trained to fight for theories alone. Justice, law, liberty were solid facts; those were the watchwords General Harrison had taught him; for those he had lived, to those he would be true, whether good or evil fortune awaited him, whether there were, indeed, a heavenly reward for the victor, or but the abyss of forgetfulness at the end of the strife. He stopped short.
"I have come to my resolution, Astbury," he said. "I cannot go with you."
And, even as he spoke, he realized what a very fool he had been to let this fellow gull him with his talk of a pot of gold! The gleam of disappointed greed that shone in Astbury's eyes told what he might have guessed already, that it was no old affection or fidelity that had drawn the man to him, but merely the hope of making money. And that hope the fellow was not likely to relinquish in a hurry.
But in vain did Astbury implore and wheedle, swear and protest Dick was firm, till at last the rascal began to realize that his prize was slipping from him, and changed his tone and grumbling out—
"It wasn't like a gentleman to go back on his word after as good as promising a poor fellow his passage-money."
"Nay, I made no promise," returned Richard; "and I am a poor man myself. But, for the sake of old times, I will give thee twenty shillings to help thee on thy road to Bristol."
Astbury clutched the money, and then an evil grin came over his face.
"Fair and easy, Master Dick! Twenty shillings in hand is all very well, but you give me to expect more, and I do expect more."
"Then you will get no more, my man," returned Dick, sharply; "so good day to you. There lies your way, and here lies mine."