A tear came into his eye, and rolled down his rosy cheek; he tried to speak, but could not, and turning, hurried from the room.
Sometimes at night as we sat together in my room under the candlelight, I would have him to tell me of London, and what my friends did there, of himself, and of his life before he sailed on his ill-fated voyage.
I learned that my old comrade Drake had sailed for the Spanish Main in search of gold; that Bacon was busy with his law; Raleigh was in high favor with the Queen, and seemed at present to be the favorite; Bobby Vane he did not know. The Lady Margaret Carroll was the toast of London, happy, gay, light-hearted; rumor had it that she would soon become the bride of the Lord Dunraven, who, devoted, gallant, and attentive, was ever her constant shadow, and since I had vanished so mysteriously from London, he had no rival of importance.
Of me, London had gossiped for a few days; the tale of my disinheritance had been the talk of the town, and followed so soon by my disappearance had created quite a sensation, and a dozen different stories had been circulated by way of explanation. Some said I had committed suicide; others that I had gone to the Low Country to assist the Dutch; still others that I had joined the freebooters and become a sea-rover.
It had furnished sensation for the ladies and gentlemen of fashion, as they gathered under the evening candles and sipped their tea, but other things came to engage their attention; what cared they if one poor gentleman, stripped of his position and fortune, lived or died? I had passed from their world forever, and so with a jest upon their lips they had flitted to some new topic.
Only a few friends had made an effort to find some trace of my fate. Bobby Vane and Raleigh had indeed searched, but could find no clue. It was as though the earth had swallowed me up.
Oliver Gates loved me, I believed. He followed me about like a dog; had searched the island for Father Francis and Dunraven, and was ever vigilant to track the Spaniard in hope that he would discover some trace of my lord, but in vain.
Dunraven and Father Francis I had never seen since they left the island that stormy night in the boat. Sometimes I thought they had gone down in the gale, but they were too wicked to die like honest men. No, I believed they were alive, perhaps in England, engaged in plots to abduct my lady, and at the thought I would pace the floor and wring my hands. At such times Oliver was a boon to me. He would sing some ballad of the olden days, when a knight, brave in his armor, and with his waving pennant, would ride out to do battle for his lady love; and at the sound of his rich, mellow voice, the care and sorrow would fade away from my heart, and I would forget myself and all my woes.
So the time passed, and spring had come; the sun shone brightly, and its beauty had tempted me out of the house. All was light and merry beneath the morning light; the birds were singing, and all earth seemed to lie quiet and peaceful, as though weary of toil and labor, and resolved to take holiday for one brief day.
Oliver I had not seen for several minutes, and I strolled down the lane that led to the little settlement of the natives. A few of them I met as I walked down the path, and with a word of greeting, they had stepped aside to let me pass.