"Can we do nothing to requite this favour?" said the taller Cavalier.
"You can," said Shakespeare, "since, if I guess aright, your name is Arderne, and you go towards Stratford-upon-Avon."
"Such is my name," said the traveller. "How can I serve you?"
"By giving this token," said Shakespeare, tearing a leaf from a small tablet he earned in his breast, and writing a few words on it.
"No more?" inquired the traveller, endeavouring to get a better view of the speaker.
"Tell those to whom you give the token," said Shakespeare, "that he who sends it is in life and health—no more."
"But will you not bear us company?" said Arderne. "This place seems dangerous, and alone you may be met by others of the gang."
"'Tis no matter," said Shakespeare; "I cannot consort with thee. Our paths to-night, as through life, lie in different directions. Farewell!" and hastily darting off, he was quickly lost in the gloom.
"Strange," said Walter Arderne, as he glanced closely at the small slip of paper in his hand, and which the moon's light now gave him an opportunity of reading. "Ah! this paper is directed to the wool-comber in Henley Street. Methought I knew the voice. 'Twas then William Shakespeare who so opportunely befriended us."
So much was Arderne surprised at this meeting, that he would fain have followed Shakespeare, but his companion dissuaded him.