The old knight, for the first time for many years, seemed really to hold up his head, and glance around him with feelings of pride and contentment. His dearly beloved nephew was again with him; he had just come from over sea with Essex, and having left the Earl on the road towards Kenilworth, had galloped forward to Clopton.
In addition to this, too, which seemed to give Sir Hugh as much content as astonishment, that tried old friend, the trusty and shrewd Martin, who had so long been mourned as dead there, had suddenly reappeared at Clopton.
The old knight could scarce contain himself within bounds as he looked upon the pair. 'Twas hardly to be thought of, so much of contentment, after having so long been a lonesome mourner; for one way or other, Sir Hugh had now been in trouble so many years, that his happiness almost alarmed him, lest something should turn up to mar it afresh.
It was on the evening of the day on which we have introduced our readers to the inmates of Kenilworth that Martin and Arderne, together with others connected with our story, were seated beneath the hospitable roof of Sir Hugh.
To describe the unmixed pleasure experienced by these good and amiable friends on that evening exceeds the power of our pen; albeit we may attempt to describe some portion of the conversation which took place. Few things, we opine, are more gratifying than to glance upon a circle of true friends, so bound together as the ones in question, and on this occasion the party consisted of some half-dozen individuals, for, besides those we have already named, the circle contained the worthy Captain Fluellyn, and, "though last, not least," William Shakespeare sat a guest beneath that old chimney.
'Twas indeed a goodly fellowship, and in which, though perhaps 'tis a rare thing to say, where six mortals quaffed a loving cup together, not a particle of envy, hatred, or uncharitableness, pervaded.
The divine expression of Shakespeare's face, as he sipped the ruby liquor, the noble countenance of Arderne, as he glanced first at one and then another of the friends around, the excitement of the old host, as he pushed the cup about, the quaint look of the shrewd Martin, and the bluff, jovial style of the sea captain, as he puffed away at his capacious pipe, our readers must imagine. They sat in a circle round the huge log upon the hearth, and each and all had something to relate or something to listen to of stirring interest, for as each spoke of his own adventures, 'twas as if some brother told the tale.
"Your story, good Martin," said Shakespeare, as Martin paused after telling some portion of his adventure and escape from the Spaniard, "on mine own authority I would hardly dare avouch. 'Tis like some of those events in real life which scarce pass even in fiction."
"I dare be sworn on't," said Martin. "'Tis an over credulous and yet unbelieving world this, an' I may so word it, a mad world, my masters, and yet, ha, ha, 'tis a pleasant world, too. Aye, and this not altogether so bad a way of passing the time in't. What says the song,
"'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all,
And welcome merry Christmas."