The galleyman breathed freer at this united testimony that he had nought to fear—for he feared none of this world;—and as he still gazed, almost entirely relieved from his superstitious dread, he observed the extended arm of the upright figure gradually fall to his side, as if his prayer or invocation had ended, and he stooped as if addressing his companion; but the latter still maintained his kneeling posture.
"It must be Stephen," said he, mentally; "he is mourning over his mother. Comrades," he said, turning to the others, "it is but the woman's son: at any rate there are but two. I'll go and hail them; and if ye see me stop, ye can come forward with the shovels." The galleyman went forward; but the moment he left the shade, his figure caught the eyes of him who stood erect. He spoke to the other, who, instantly starting on his feet, prepared himself to meet the intruder. The stranger, nothing daunted, hurried on, and, in an instant, stood before those who, by the menacing attitude they assumed, evidently regarded him with no friendly feeling.
"It is no enemy bearing down upon you, friends," said the galleyman, in that tone of confidence which seems neither to suspect or purpose ill. "Tell me, is either of you the son of her who—who lies here?"
"Why ask you?" replied the taller figure, in a deep commanding voice.
"I will not answer till I am answered: but this I may say, be ye who ye will, that there is not a man I would befriend sooner than Stephen Holgrave."
"If you are a friend, I will trust you; and if not, I do not fear you," said Holgrave, raising the brim of a slouched hat that had shadowed his face—"I am Stephen Holgrave."
"Then may luck attend you," answered the galleyman, grasping his hand; "I thought it was you, and I came, not alone, for I have helpmates yonder to—to—do, what I thought would be a good turn for you—to bury your mother."
"It is an act of charity, stranger, to bury the dead," said father John courteously; "and you are calling down mercy upon your soul like that pious man of old——"
"Aye, and I have need of mercy," returned the galleyman, "more need than he, whoever he was. But see, my mates are coming;—we must fall to work, for the night is wearing."
"But who may you be, stranger, who thus interest yourself for the injured?" asked the monk, "or why this disguise?"