“Palpable?” answered he whom he grasped so strongly—“’Sdeath, methinks you might know that—without the risk of choking me; and if you loose me not, I’ll show you that two can play at the game of wrestling.”
“Roger Wildrake!” said Everard, letting the cavalier loose, and stepping back.
“Roger Wildrake? ay, truly. Did you take me for Roger Bacon, come to help you raise the devil?—for the place smells of sulphur consumedly.”
“It is the pistol I fired—Did you not hear it?”
“Why, yes, it was the first thing waked me—for that nightcap which I pulled on, made me sleep like a dormouse—Pshaw, I feel my brains giddy with it yet.”
“And wherefore came you not on the instant?—I never needed help more.”
“I came as fast as I could,” answered Wildrake; “but it was some time ere I got my senses collected, for I was dreaming of that cursed field at Naseby—and then the door of my room was shut, and hard to open, till I played the locksmith with my foot.”
“How! it was open when I went to bed,” said Everard.
“It was locked when I came out of bed, though,” said Wildrake, “and I marvel you heard me not when I forced it open.”
“My mind was occupied otherwise,” said Everard.