This church, too, was a midday gathering-place, as was also Westminster Abbey. But ten o'clock was too early for the crowd, and the captain found himself almost alone among the recumbent figures, in dark marble, of bygone knights of the Temple in full armour. Not even the lawyers, in any considerable number, had yet taken their places by the clustered Norman pillars at which they received clients. The gentleman whom Ravenshaw had come to meet, to report the outcome of his attempt with the goldsmith's daughter, was not there.
Master Jerningham, indeed, had cause to be late. He had cause also for his mind to be, if not upset, at least tumbled about. In the first place, though he did not try to resist it, he cursed his unreasonable passion for this girl, which took so much time and thought from his final preparations for the voyage on which he had set so heavy a stake. He had been compelled to leave many things to his companion gentlemen-adventurers, which he ought to have overseen himself. And even as matters were, he was not clear as to what he would be about, concerning the girl. Suppose he won her to a meeting, could such a passion as his be cooled in the few hours during which he might be with her before sailing? Or should he indeed, as he had hinted to Sir Clement, set himself to carry her off on his voyage by persuasion or force? He knew not; events must decide; only two things were certain—he must behold her a yielding conquest in his arms; and he must sail at the time set or as soon after as weather might permit.
Upon leaving Ravenshaw in St. Paul's, the day before, he had gone to see a cunning man by whom his nativity had been cast with relation to the voyage. The astrologer had foretold an obstacle to be encountered at the last moment, and to be avoided only by great prudence. This had darkened Master Jerningham's thoughts for awhile, but he had forgotten it in the busy cares of the afternoon at Deptford, whither he had hastened to see the bestowal of stores upon the ship. He had already got his men down from London and Wapping, all taking part in the work, some living aboard, some at the inns; so as to risk no desertions. He had returned late to Winchester House, passed a restless night, slept a little after daylight, and set forth in good time before ten for his appointment.
BADE HIS VISITOR BE SEATED UPON A STONE BENCH, AND FACED HER SULLENLY.
Just as he was going down the water-stairs, a small craft shot in ahead of the boat his man Gregory had hailed; a woman sprang up from the stern and, gaining the stairs with a fearless leap, stood facing him. She was a tall, finely made, ruddy-faced creature, in her twenties, attired in the shabby remains of a country gentlewoman's gown, and wearing a high-crowned, narrow-brimmed hat.
"Name of the fiend!" muttered Master Jerningham, starting back in anger and confusion. "What the devil do you here?"
"Peace," said the woman, in a low voice. "Have no fear. If your virtuous kinsman sees me, say I'm old Jeremy's niece come to tell you what men he'll need for the farm work." Her voice befitted her tall and goodly figure, being rich and full; the look upon her handsome countenance was one of mingled humiliation and scorn.
"I am in haste," said Jerningham, in great vexation.