“Well, then, ’twill keep us fro’ twiddling our thumbs. Ho, Prat! Give us aid. ’Ods precious! Where’s the merry-andrew gone? Was she not his light o’ love as well?”
“Yes,” laughed the gossip, “but saw you not Prat’s look when I told you she had disappeared? He and his bear have gone a-roaming in the forest. Poor clown!”
Many shook their heads with indulgent pity. “Come, let us go in search.”
But Ananias Dare, who, being in the turmoil of a struggle against himself, had said little, now stayed them. “They are not in jeopardy. We ourselves have more to fear. Last night I saw a ship bear away to the east. My masters, I doubt not they have clandestinely deserted us. They have gone.”
“Deserted us!” The exclamation was not from one only, but all, and an angry muttering ran through the company.
“These poets have no courage.”
“She was afraid to stay. The parson bade her marry.”
“We are well rid of them.”
“Ay, but ’tis an outrage.”