CHAPTER XIX
In which We have Unexpected Company
THE wind, which had heretofore come in fierce blasts, was now steadying to a gale. What with the flying of the heaped clouds, the slanting, groaning pines, and the rushing of the river, the whole earth seemed a fugitive, fleeing breathless to the sea. From across the neck of land came the long-drawn howl of wolves, and in the wood beyond the church a catamount screamed and screamed. The town before us lay as dark and as still as the grave; from the garden where we were we could not see the Governor’s house.
“I will carry madam’s bundle,” said a voice behind us.
It was the minister who had spoken, and he now stood beside us. There was a moment’s silence, then I said, with a laugh: “We are not going upon a summer jaunt, friend Sparrow. There is a warm fire in the great room, to which your reverence had best betake yourself out of this windy night.”
As he made no movement to depart, but instead possessed himself of Mistress Percy’s bundle, I spoke again, with some impatience: “We are no longer of your fold, reverend sir, but are bound for another parish. We give you hearty thanks for your hospitality, and wish you a very good night.”
As I spoke I would have taken the bundle from him, but he tucked it under his arm, and, passing us, opened the garden gate. “Did I forget to tell you,” he said, “that worthy Master Bucke is well of the fever, and returns to his own to-morrow? His house and church are no longer mine. I have no charge anywhere. I am free and footloose. May I not go with you, madam? There may be dragons to slay, and two can guard a distressed princess better than one. Will you take me for your squire, Captain Percy?”
He held out his great hand, and after a moment I put my own in it.
We left the garden and struck into a lane. “The river, then, instead of the forest?” he asked in a low voice.
“Ay,” I answered. “Of the two evils it seems the lesser.”
“How about a boat?”