"No, yer honour, it is not that," he replied. "Oi came but to till thee, sor, that thoine armour—which was rusted some—hath bin clained and is now ridy fer wear," said he, quickly, as he eyed Harleston closely.
"What in the devil's name art thou talking about? Why, I have no armour that is rusted."
"No, not now, sor," said he, with that same serene face. When he had finished this, however, and saw Harleston's head thrown back, as my friend stared at the ceiling, in an effort to refrain from laughing, Michael raised his eyebrows, and jerked his head in Frederick's direction.
"Ah! so that is the difficulty," said I, laughing. "'Tis my friend thou fearest. Ah, Michael, I am proud of thy discretion," I continued, as I walked over to where he stood, and slapped him on that shoulder which stood out like a block of iron draped with cloth. And indeed one might as well have struck a piece of steel as that shoulder with its shirt of mail beneath the rough coarse jacket. "However, thou needst not fear to speak out boldly before Sir Frederick, as I have no secret that is unknown to him."
"In that case, sor, Oi must pray thoy pardon," said he, speaking to Harleston; "but in these toimes, whin great min, as will as the common folk, turn out to be divils it be moighty hard to pick out the honest soul."
"Indeed thou art right, Michael, and it shall be well for thee to continue to trust but those that thou knowest full well to be true and honest men," said my friend, which admired this frank admission of suspicion. "Thou art an honest fellow, and I like thee well; but be careful of this," he continued,—"be sure that thou dost practise thine honesty with great caution. Honesty, now-a-days, seems to be the shortest road to the block; unless thou art cautious enough to be honestly dishonest."
"Oi understand not thoy wourds," said Michael, as he scratched his head, with a puzzled look; but for a moment only. "Uh!" said he, "Oi think that Oi have a hould on what yer honour manes, and Oi'll profit by yer advice, sor."
"But come," said I, "What is it that thou wishest to tell me? For well do I know that story about mine armour to be but a disguise."
"In faith it was, sor, and Oi now craves yer pardon fer the tillin' of a loie to yer honour."
"It had been granted ere thou didst ask. Come, to thy news."