“Make way there!” roared Sir Francis Hartleton’s man, as the boy who rowed him shot the wherry’s nose between the other two. “Make way there—curse you all, I am on the king’s business.”
“Make way for his majesty,” cried the man who had carried Albert Seyton. “He says he’s on the king’s business, but that’s only his modesty. He’s the king himself, I shouldn’t wonder, disguised as a fool.”
The spy had scrambled from the boat on to the wooden steps, but he was so annoyed at this last remark, that snatching his staff from his pocket, he turned round, saying,—
“If I lose my proper game, I’ll make sure for you for obstructing an officer. You shall have a lodging in the watch-house, my exceedingly witty fellow.”
The waterman was, however, a great deal too quick for him; for, as he tried to step from the stairs into the boat, by one sweep of his oars he shot the wherry out some three or four yards from the landing, and the spy stepped up to his knees in the river, and was nearly precipitated head foremost into the stream.
“Don’t pison the water,” said the waterman; and then he pulled steadily away.
“I’ll have you another time, my man,” said the spy, quite livid with rage, as he turned, and again ascended the steps.
In the meantime Jacob Gray had gathered his cloak closely around him, and smiling to himself at his own cleverness in, as he thought, thoroughly outwitting Learmont, and even when there was no danger, approaching his home in so very baffling a manner, was creeping along close to the houses as usual towards his obscure lodgings.
Albert Seyton, when he reached the top of the stairs, looked anxiously to the right, and there he saw Gray, not half a dozen yards from him. To follow so closely would have been very dangerous, undisguised now as the young man was, and he hung back, still keeping Jacob Gray in his eye, until the latter had proceeded nearly to a turning which led into the next street but one in which he lived. The moment, then, that he was upon the corner Albert walked hastily forward, and by pursuing the same system at the corner of the next street, he fairly succeeded in dogging Gray to the little mean shop above which he lodged.
Albert’s heart beat high as he saw him enter the humble abode. His agitation became extreme, and the thought that he was so near Ada caused such a tumult of delightful feelings in his breast, that he forgot all passed suffering—all present cautions, and actually bounded forward half a dozen paces towards the shop, before his promise to Learmont came across his mind, and arrested his eager footsteps.