"You, Master Markham! What for?"
"To fight with, I expect. We are on our way to join my father."
"'Tis grave news," he remarked. "Though you are but young, the King will require every man fit to bear arms, I trove. Still, I think I have sufficient to equip both you and your companion."
"Now, concerning the payment——"
"Nay, never mind that," he interrupted. "I have little doubt but that His Grace the Earl of Portland will well repay me for what I have already delivered; if not, I know too well that your father will recompense me for any slight service I can do for his son. Come this way, and we'll see what can be done."
So saying, he took the lantern and went upstairs, we following.
From under a bed he, with the aid of our united efforts, dragged out a heavy box, and, throwing back the lid, disclosed a store of weapons.
"Here, Master Markham, is a fine piece of steel," he exclaimed, handing me a sword in a black scabbard of Spanish leather. "Draw it, and try its temper."
An indescribable feeling of pleasure possessed me as I handled the blade, which, even in the dim candle-light, flashed like a thousand diamonds.
"Don't be afraid of it," said the armourer as I cautiously bent the steel with my hands. "A better piece of steel was never welded. See!"