"I must not," said Philip.
This reply seemed not a little to vex the Prince. "Must not!" he cried.
"Nay, then," said the priest gently, "an Your Highness like it better, I will not."
"'May not, must not, will not,'" said William, bitterly quoting his words; "by the rule of war, Sir Priest, I may hang you to that tree. Deny me not, for may can wax greater in other mouths."
"Hanging," says Philip very coolly, "is little likely to rob me of the power to hold my tongue."
Now during this strife, while I both trembled and admired, I had yet eyes to remark that Mr. Bentinck's gaze did wander to and fro between a paper he held in his hand and the countenance of this stanch brother of mine. At the time I knew not what it meant, but have since reason to believe it that same description of a priest that had been trodden by the heel of a prince, hid in a maiden's bosom, and feloniously perused by a gentleman of France. Finding in it little likeness to the man before him, he proceeded to the execution of a small but vastly cunning ruse, to discover if the man whose description he held in his hand were indeed the plotter of the late murderous attack upon His Highness.
"Your Highness," said he sourly, "this subtile fellow does well know that this Francis,"—and here Mr. Bentinck glanced with some ostentation at the paper that was in his hand,—"or 'Marston,' as he is here named, with his round body and red periwig, is already in our hands. This aping of constancy is but a means to keep from himself the blame of a complicity that the other confesses."
"Nay, faith!" cried Philip, with an eagerness wholly innocent, "I knew not that he was taken."
At this His Highness laughed loud and right merrily. "Cunning William!" he said, as he patted Mr. Bentinck upon the shoulder, "your politic tricks are better than my threatenings." He then addressed Philip in a voice much softened: "Mr. Drayton," he said, "I ask your pardon for my rough soldier ways. We have taken no such person, but you have most innocently told us what we much desired to know. Wherefore did you scorn our hospitality last evening? Was that also of compulsion?"
"Nay," says Philip, "but to keep my father's name clear of a most foul reproach. From the bottom of my heart I am Your Highness's enemy. I never cease to pray that all your purpose may miscarry. But you will not hang a Drayton and a cutthroat in one noose."