"You would be sorry, after all," continued the traveller, "were I to
tell you poor Mike Lambourne was shot at the head of his regiment at the
taking of a sconce near Maestricht?"
"Sorry!--it would be the blithest news I ever heard of him, since it
would ensure me he was not hanged. But let him pass--I doubt his
end will never do such credit to his friends. Were it so, I should
say"--(taking another cup of sack)--"Here's God rest him, with all my
heart."
"Tush, man," replied the traveller, "never fear but you will have credit
by your nephew yet, especially if he be the Michael Lambourne whom I
knew, and loved very nearly, or altogether, as well as myself. Can you
tell me no mark by which I could judge whether they be the same?"
"Faith, none that I can think of," answered Giles Gosling, "unless that
our Mike had the gallows branded on his left shoulder for stealing a
silver caudle-cup from Dame Snort of Hogsditch."
"Nay, there you lie like a knave, uncle," said the stranger, slipping
aside his ruff; and turning down the sleeve of his doublet from his neck
and shoulder; "by this good day, my shoulder is as unscarred as thine
own.
"What, Mike, boy--Mike!" exclaimed the host;--"and is it thou, in good
earnest? Nay, I have judged so for this half-hour; for I knew no other
person would have ta'en half the interest in thee. But, Mike, an thy
shoulder be unscathed as thou sayest, thou must own that Goodman Thong,
the hangman, was merciful in his office, and stamped thee with a cold
iron."
"Tush, uncle--truce with your jests. Keep them to season your sour ale,
and let us see what hearty welcome thou wilt give a kinsman who has
rolled the world around for eighteen years; who has seen the sun set
where it rises, and has travelled till the west has become the east."
"Thou hast brought back one traveller's gift with thee, Mike, as I well
see; and that was what thou least didst: need to travel for. I remember
well, among thine other qualities, there was no crediting a word which
came from thy mouth."
"Here's an unbelieving pagan for you, gentlemen!" said Michael
Lambourne, turning to those who witnessed this strange interview betwixt
uncle and nephew, some of whom, being natives of the village, were no
strangers to his juvenile wildness. "This may be called slaying a Cumnor
fatted calf for me with a vengeance.--But, uncle, I come not from
the husks and the swine-trough, and I care not for thy welcome or no
welcome; I carry that with me will make me welcome, wend where I will."