"'Tis a coil," he said, "and Fate doth work against me. Yet verily 'tis a coil I will unravel. I am not easily worsted, but in the end bend things to my will. An' thou wilt not tell me what stands i' my road, I will discover it for myself. As for the Judas name thou hast called me—it fits me not. Should'st thou desire to tell me so thyself at any time—to take it back—send me but a word. So I go."
The long, swift steps sounded down the hall; there was the opening and shutting of a door, and afterward silence.
CHAPTER IX
IX
The night wore on and the moonlight faded. The stars shone large and bright; the sound of people passing on the street grew less and less. Now and then a party of belated students or merry-makers came by, singing a round or madrigal. A melancholy night-jar called incessantly over the house-tops. As the clocks tolled one, there was a sound of rapid wheels along the road and a coach stopped before goodman Blossom's.
Young Thornbury leaped from it, and with his heavy knocking roused the man, who came stumbling sleepily down the hallway.
"Oh! pray thee, make haste, Blossom," called the young fellow; "keep me not waiting." Then, as the door flew open, "My sister!" he said, pushing by, "is she still up?"
"Gra'mercy! Thou dost worrit sober folk till they be like to lose their wits! Thy sister should be long abed—an' thou too. Thou art become a pranked-out coxcomb with all thy foppery—a coxcomb an' a devil-may-care roysterer with thy blackened eyes—thy dice-playing an' thy coming in o' midnight i' coaches!"
Darby strode past, unheeding; at the stairs Debora met him.