“So there the king prayed,” murmured Marlowe, pointing toward the crucifix, while Tamworth nodded.
“And there he rested?” continued Marlowe, turning his gaze toward the couch. No reply came from Tamworth, who, with sad expression on his face, remained a listener.
“And there he studied and meditated upon the mutability of worldly things,” added Tamworth, solemnly, as both glanced in the direction of the chair and Bible.
“Study, meditation, prayer, and slumber,” repeated Marlowe, as though to himself.
“Once the occupation of a king,” said Tamworth.
“And,” added the other, “mine also until death.”
Tamworth was aroused from a morning sleep by the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder. He was lying undressed upon the bed within the alcove where he had thrown himself after the inspection of the secret oratory. He had vainly endeavored to induce Marlowe to gain rest by slumber; but the latter had alternately walked the floor and occupied a chair before the window. His restlessness of mind was still beyond control. The faint figures of the angels on the tapestries, the scroll work on the chimney-columns, the dragon head from whose mouth came the lamp chains, and the green trees within the courtyard, attracted his attention only temporarily. Stronger than these objects presented to his bodily eyes were the mind’s pictures of the eventful night: his meeting with Anne, the sword combat, the stripping of the slain, the conference at the Boar’s Head, the dead face of Tabbard, and his future place of study. He could not shut them out; and with them were troubled thoughts concerning Anne. The hours passed; he watched the unbroken slumber of his friend, and, at length unable to remain inactive, he shook the sleeper into consciousness.
“What will occur to-day at the Golden Hind?” he asked as soon as the lawyer was awake.
“Still brooding on that? You better sleep, Kit, and drown consciousness for a few hours.”