And now, Sir Walter, looking over his shoulder, saw the other wherry bearing down upon them through the faintly opalescent mists of dawn. A hail came to them across the water.
“Oh, ’Sdeath! We are betrayed!” cried Ralegh bitterly, and Stukeley swore more fiercely still. Sir Walter turned to him. “Put ashore,” he said shortly, “and let us home.”
“Ay, perhaps ’twere best. For to-night there’s an end to the enterprise, and if I am taken in your company now, what shall be said to me for this active assistance in your escape?” His voice was gloomy, his face drawn and white.
“Could you not plead that you had but pretended to go with me to seize on my private papers?” suggested the ingenious mind of Ralegh.
“I could. But shall I be believed? Shall I?” His loom was deepening to despair.
Ralegh was stricken almost with remorse on his cousin’s account. His generous heart was now more concerned with the harm to his friends than with his own doom. He desired to make amends to Stukeley, but had no means save such as lay in the power of that currency he used. Having naught else to give, he must give that. He plunged his hand into an inner pocket, and brought forth a handful of jewels, which he thrust upon his kinsman.
“Courage,” he urged him. “Up now, and we may yet win out and home, so that all will be well with you at least, and you shall not suffer for your friendship to me.”
Stukeley embraced him then, protesting his love and desire to serve him.
They came to land at last, just below Greenwich bridge, and almost at the same moment the other wherry grounded immediately above them. Men sprang from her, with the obvious intent of cutting off their retreat.
“Too late!” said Ralegh, and sighed, entirely without passion now that the dice had fallen and showed that the game was lost. “You must act on my suggestion to explain your presence, Lewis.”