Would she but have looked round! Could she but have known who it was that watched her! Could I myself have dared even to shout or call!
Alas! the boat glided by, and her form, stately, erect, fearless, lost itself in the distance. What dreamed she—a queen—of an uncouth London ’prentice?
“Master Dexter,” said Jeannette’s soft voice presently, “for five whole minutes you have been trying to read one little sentence, and it still lacks an ending. What ails you?”
“Nothing, mistress; but I am a bad scholar and the words are hard; I pray you forgive me. Besides it grows late. ’Tis time we went in.”
So I carried her in to her mother, and then ran wildly back to the river’s edge, if by good hap I might see that lady return, or at least catch sight of her boat in the far distance. But I did neither. The tide still ran out, and amongst the many boats that dotted the water citywards who was to say which was hers?
As I returned by way of the Temple to my master’s house, I met Peter Stoupe, my fellow ’prentice.
“I am glad I met thee,” he said. “A man came to me just now in the shop and said, ‘Be you Humphrey Dexter?’ I told him no, and asked him what he wanted. He told me that was his business. I bade him wait where he was and I would fetch you, for I had seen you go out; but he went away grumbling, saying he would choose his own time, not mine. Alas! Humphrey, you have brought us all into sad trouble by your naughty ways.”
“What trouble are you in, sirrah?” said I, wrathfully. “It matters little to you what comrade is laid by the heels, so that you get your platter full, morning and evening.”
“But our good master and mistress—” he began.
But I waited not for him and went quickly home.