"Martin!" cried she. "Oh, dear Martin, for the love of God—"
But (Oh, vain folly! Oh, detestable pride!) I heeded not this merciful appeal nor the crying of my own heart, but turning my back upon my noble lady, stumbled away and with never another word or look. And thus I (that was born to be my own undoer) once more barred myself out from all that life offered me of happiness, since pride is ever purblind.
Presently, espying Godby where divers of his fellows rove new tackle to a gun, I enquired for Adam.
"I' the gun room, Mart'n—nay, I'll stand along wi' you."
So he brought me down to the gun room where sat Adam, elbows on table, chin on hand, peering up at one who stood before him in fetters, a haggard, warworn figure.
"What—Resolution?" said I.
"That same, friend, brought somewhat low, comrade, yet soon, it seems, to be exalted—on a gallows, d'ye see, yet constant in prayer, steadfast in faith and nowise repining—for where would be the use? And moreover, the way o' the Lord is my way—Amen, brother, and Amen."
"Adam," said I, turning where he yet gazed up at Resolution's scarred and bandaged face, "I would fain have you show mercy to this man. But for Resolution here I had died hideously at the hands of a vile blackamoor."
"Mercy?" said Adam, scowling up at Resolution.
"His life, Adam."