“Your pardon,” said I, “but my imagination is quick, and your horrible story well-nigh made me ill.”
He took this as a mighty compliment, and smoothed down forthwith.
“Ay, ay,” said he, “some stomachs are squeamish, but I thought you one of the stout ones. This fourth fellow, say you? Marry, by the build of him he might be a brother of yours, for his feet dangled a foot nearer the ground than the others; and when it came to—”
“Was he dark or fair?” I asked hurriedly, frightened lest he should turn again to his horrible relation.
“Why, he had a shock of hair as like straw for colour as anything I saw. I tell you no man knew his name. Some said he was a Highlander. And he looked it, though I never saw one. But a wilder, more bold-face, shameless villain I ne’er set eyes on. Ay, and he kept it up to the end, too; after the hanging and when they—”
“Have done!” cried I, angrily, “no more of that. But tell me one last thing. Said he anything, before he died?”
“Never a word. But there was a curl on his lip as if it were we who had the rope round our necks and not he; and when the chaplain came to exhort him, he swung round on his heel and pulls me out his papist crucifix and kisses it before all the people. What think you of that for a stubborn dog? The others died with their tails betwixt their legs, I tell you; but this notable ruffler, from the moment he swung aloft to the moment—”
I could stand him no more, and left him telling his horrible story to the church steeple; while I crawled back, scarce daring to think, to my master’s house, I told this news neither to Jeannette nor the maiden. For it might be false, as former panics had been. And if it were not false, what good could it do to break that gentle heart a day sooner than Heaven ordained?
So the year ended miserably, in doubt and gloomy foreboding; and Jeannette and I, as we looked at the maiden’s white cheek and suffering brow, dare scarcely claim as our own the happiness which came of the love that grew daily betwixt us.
Now, I grieve to say that early in the new year, my master, who had of late seemed docile and obedient to the orders of the worshipful the Stationers’ Company, fell once more into his evil practices of secret printing. I know not how or why it was, but more than once he was absent visiting the minister at Kingston; and once, that same Welshman, Master Penry, whom I had met in Oxford, came to our house and had a long conference there, and left behind him certain papers which my master carefully locked away.