"Yes," says she readily. "And indeed, Cousin Rupert, I know more of this--of him than you do, and very sure am I he is no murderer--nor ever will be!" Here for a moment her glance rested on me, and meeting that look I forgot my wounded vanity and degradation awhile.
"Sweet my lady," says Sir Rupert, "Your gentle woman's heart may not brook scenes the like of this. Go seek thy tender pillow and leave such to us of sterner mould."
"Nay, cousin, my gentle woman's heart knoweth innocence from guilt, methinks, and here standeth innocent man, stowaway though he be."
"Why then as stowaway will I entreat him, fair cousin. Master Penfeather, clap him in irons till the morning, away with him--nay, I myself will see him safely lodged." Here, and without further parley, I was led below, watched by the whole ship's company, and so to a dismal place abaft the lazarette, where the armourer, Master Taffery, duly locked me into the manacles (arm and leg) beneath the eyes of Penfeather and Sir Rupert who, seeing me this secure, presently left me to darkness and my solitary reflections.
Howbeit, after some while I heard the sound of key turning and Adam re-entered bearing a light; having locked the door on us, he set down the lanthorn on the floor and, seating himself on the bench whereto I was shackled, falls into a passion of cursing both in English, Spanish (and Indian for aught I know) for never had I heard the like words or such deep fervour.
"Adam," says I (he being at a pause), "'tis hard to think you were ever a student of divinity!"
Hereupon he glances at me from the corners of his eyes and shakes his head: "Your face is bloody, Martin, are ye hurt?"
"My belly's empty, Adam."
"Why, I guessed as much, shipmate, Godby's bringing ye the wherewithal to fill it. In the meantime I'll free you o' your bilboes awhile, though I must lock you up again that you may be found snug and secure in the morning." So saying he took a key from his pocket and therewith set me at liberty.
"Ah, Martin," quoth he, as I stretched myself, "why must ye go a-raising of tumults above deck under our very noses? Here's mighty ill plight you've got yourself into, and here's me a-wondering how I am to get ye out again. Here's been murder done, and, look'ee, this coxcombly captain hath got it into his skull that you're the murderer--aye, and what's worse, every soul aboard likewise save only Godby and myself."
"And my lady!" says I.