Longpole heard all this with an air of great edification; but when he thought that his master had indulged himself enough, he ventured to interrupt him by saying, "The sun, sir, has gone to bed; had not we better take advantage of his absence, and make our way to London? Remember, sir, he is an early riser at this time of year, and will be up looking after us tomorrow before we are well aware."
"Ay, Longpole, ay!" replied the knight; "I will linger no longer, for it is unavailing. The trumpet must have sounded to supper by this time; has it not? So we shall have no idlers to gaze at our departure."
"The trumpet sounded as I went down but now," said Longpole, "and I met the sewer carrying in a brawn's head so like his own, that I could not help thinking he had killed and cooked his brother: they must be hard at his grace's liege capons even now."
"Well, I am ready," said the knight; "give me the surcoat of tawny velvet. Now; no more feathers!" he continued, plucking from his casque the long plume that, issuing from the crest in graceful sweeps, fell back almost to his girdle, taking care, however, at the same time, to leave behind a small white glove wrought with gold, that had surrounded the insertion of the feather, and which he secured in its place with particular attention. "Some one will have rare pillage of this apartment," he added, looking round. "That suit of black armour is worth five hundred marks; but it matters not to think of it: we cannot carry them with us. The long sword and baldrick, Longpole, and the gold spurs: I will go as a knight, at least. Now, take the bags. I follow. Farewell, King Henry! you have lost a faithful subject!"
Thus saying, he proceeded down the stairs after Longpole, and following a corridor, passed by one of the small doors of the great hall, through the partial opening of which were to be heard the rattle and the clatter of plates, of dishes, and of knives, and the buzz of many busy jaws. A feeling of disgust came over Sir Osborne as he heard it, he scarce knew why, and stayed not to inquire, but striding on, came speedily to the stable-yard, and was crossing towards the building in which his horses stood, when he observed a man loitering near the door of the stable, whom he soon discovered to be one of the yeomen given him by the Duke of Buckingham.
"On, Longpole!" cried the knight; "on, and send him upon some errand, for I am in no fit mood to speak with him now." While Sir Osborne drew back into the doorway, Longpole advanced, and in a moment after the man was seen traversing the court in another direction. The knight then proceeded, the horses were brought forth, and springing into the saddle, Sir Osborne, with a sigh given to the recollection of lost hopes, touched his charger with the spur, and rode out of the gates. Longpole followed, and in a few minutes they were on the high road to London.
CHAPTER XXVI.
He is a worthy gentleman,
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments.--Henry IV.
It was hardly night when Sir Osborne departed; a faint and diminishing blush still tinged the eastern sky; the blackbird was still singing his full round notes from every thicket; and not a star had yet veivntured forth upon the pathway of the sun, except one, that, bright and sweet even then, seemed like a fond and favoured child to the monarch of the sky, following fearlessly on his brilliant steps, while others held aloof. The calm of the evening sank down gently on the young adventurer's heart: it was so mild, so placid; and though, perhaps, pensive and tinged with melancholy, yet there was a sort of promise in that last smile of parting day, which led Hope forward, and told of brighter moments yet to come. For some time the knight indulged in vague dreams, made up, as indeed is the whole dream of human life, of hopes and fears, expectation and despondency; then giving up thought for action, he spurred forward his horse, and proceeded as fast as he could towards London. Longpole followed in silence; for, in spite of all his philosophy, he felt a sort of qualm at the idea of the long period which must intervene ere he could hope to see his pretty Geraldine, that took away several ounces of his loquacity.
London, at length, spread wide before them, and after some needless circumambulation, owing to the knight's total ignorance of the labyrinthian intricacies of the city, and the dangerous littleness of Longpole's knowledge thereof, they at length reached Gracious Street, and discovered the small, square paved court, long since built over, and I believe now occupied by a tea-dealer, but which then afforded a sort of area before the dwelling of the Flemish merchant, William Hans. On the left hand, nearest the river, was situated the counting-house; and to the front, as well as to the right, stretched a range of buildings which, from their Polyphemus-like appearance, having but one window or aperture in the front (except the door), the knight concluded to be those warehouses whose indiscriminate maw swallowed up the produce of all parts of the earth. Over the counting-house, however, appeared several smaller windows, principally glazed, and through one of these shone forth upon the night the light of a taper, giving notice that some one still waked within. While Longpole dismounted, and knocked with the hilt of his dagger against a little door by the side of that which led to the counting-house, the knight watched the light in the window; but he watched and Longpole knocked in vain; for neither did the light move nor the door open, till Sir Osborne bethought him of a stratagem to call the merchant's attention.