"Well, go you with us?"
"I know not where I go," I answered, turning with my hand upon the door-latch; "but much may happen ere the Duke rides forth. In the meantime I will not lose sight of you; rely on that."
With that I would have gone, but Coram stopped me.
"Stay! one moment, friend," said he, raising his blinking eyes no higher than my waist-belt. "That small affair about thy horse last night. Is it forgiven me?"
"Forgiven and forgotten," I replied.
He heaved a mighty sigh; and I went forth to seek the "godly chaplain".
CHAPTER XII
How I was Saved from Rashness
Turning down a stone-flagged passage, I made for a small, snug parlour, where I had oft held private converse with the landlord and his daughter Miriam, especially the latter. I found the door wide open and the room deserted, but that did not prevent my entering, for indeed the house had ever been a sort of second home to me; and, as things were just then, I did not crave for any company, and silence seemed a blessed thing.
So, standing with my hands behind me, and back towards the empty fire-place, I took swift thought, if thought it could be called--for what a medley filled my brain! John Coram's words had let in such a blinding light upon the question nearest to my heart that I was fairly dazzled and bewildered by it. Thus, there was the mischief-working demon with two names; his meeting on the previous night with Ferguson, not a stone-throw from the spot where I was standing; their slinking by the very man who was as zealous to kill Ammon as I was myself; and, finally, the mocking thought that, in his ignorance, John Coram looked on the murderous chaplain as a thing of spotless righteousness--fit company for angels.