“Oh, fie on a death that flees and entreats me to follow,” was Adam’s answer. “I rolled you once in this hall; I can do so again. Halberd—Pike, candles to place at the head and feet of death!”
The beef-eaters, having reached the apartments appointed for their use, had heard the disturbance in the hall, and expecting trouble, had already lighted the candles. With three of these they now came forth. The hall would have been light enough had it been in communication with the outside world and the twilight, but as it was, it was nearly dark.
“I grieve for your mother,” sneered the stranger, whose sword could be heard backing out of its scabbard. “You must be young to be so spendthrift of your life.”
“On the contrary, you will find what a miser I am, even as to the drops of my blood,” said Adam. “No one ever yet accused the Sachem——”
“The Sachem!” interrupted the other voice.
Halberd, who had sheltered the candle he bore with his hand, now threw its light on the face of the man near by him.
“Shatter my hilt!” exclaimed young Rust, “Wainsworth!”
“Odds walruses!” said the man addressed as Wainsworth, “what a pretty pair of fools we are. By gad, Adam, to think I wouldn’t know you by your voice!”
Adam had leaped forward, while his sword was diving back into its sheath. He caught Wainsworth by the hand and all but wrung it off.
“Bless your old soul,” he said, “why didn’t you say who you were?”