“Where saw I that gallows face before? Who be you, sirrah?”
“A printer,” said I.
“You lie,” said he, “for I saw you to-day accompany the old Scotsman to the Castle. And, by my body, that slouching dog there should be— Hillo! comrades,” cried he, amazed at his discovery, “more ghosts! May I perish if there have not been sitting in this very room while we talked of him this same sour-faced, love-sick clown, Master Ludar, and one of his merry men. Marry come up! The very man, skulking here, while his light-of-love is on her honeymoon, and the old dotard, his father, with his pockets full of English gold—”
He said no more. Ludar had no sword, but the blow he gave him silenced his foul tongue for a week. Instantly the room was turned into a shambles. ’Twas no time to mince words or blows, and we did neither. Nor were we two left alone to withstand all the rest; for the gentleman of the party (whom I have mentioned), sided with us, as did also the sea captain, who owed mine host a long score, and saw a good way to cry quits without shortening his purse. Among us, we made so good an account of ourselves, that when at length we took our leave, not a man bade us stay.
“Come,” said the captain, “my ship lies at the bridge. To-morrow we shall see England.”
Chapter Eighteen.
How I found myself again in London.
Three days later, as our ship laboured up the gulf of the Solway, Ludar came to me, as I stood on the poop, and said: