“I could make some use of thee in the Kings service.”
“Thank you,” said Delecresse, rather drily. “I do not wish to have more to do with the Devil and his angels than I find necessary.”
Sir Piers broke into a laugh. “Neat, that! I suppose I am one of the angels? But I am surprised to hear such a sentiment from a Jew.”
Nothing is more inconsistent than sin. In his anxiety to gratify his revenge, Delecresse was enduring patiently at the hands of Sir Piers far worse insults than that over which he had so long brooded from Richard de Clare. He kept silence.
“It really is a pity,” observed Sir Piers, complacently surveying Delecresse, “that such budding talent as thine should be cast away upon trade. Thou wouldst make far more money in secret service. It would be easy to change thy name. Keep thy descent quiet, and be ready to eat humble-pie for a short time. There is no saying to what thou mightest rise in this world.”
“And the other?” Delecresse felt himself an unfledged cherub by the side of Sir Piers.
“Bah!” Sir Piers snapped his fingers. “What do such as we know about that? There is no other world. If there were, the chances are that both of us would find ourselves very uncomfortable there. We had better stay in this as long as we can.”
“As you please, Sir Knight. I am not ready to sell my soul for gold.”
“Only for revenge, eh? Well, that’s not much better. There are a few scruples about thee, my promising lad, which thou wouldst find it necessary to sacrifice in the service. Some soft-hearted mother or sister, I imagine, hath instilled them into thee. Women are always after some mischief. I wish there were none.”
What did Delecresse know of the momentary pang of sensation which had pricked that hard, seared heart, as for one second memory brought before him the loving face of a little child, over whose fair head for thirty years the churchyard daisies had been blooming? Could he hear the tender, pleading voice of the baby sister, begging dear Piers not to hurt her pet kitten, and she would give him all the sweetmeats Aunt Theffania sent her? Such moments do come to the hardest hearts: and they usually leave them harder. Before Delecresse had found an answer, Sir Piers was himself again.