"Sir, I take leave to make known yet another adventurer, namely—my half-brother Anthony."
"Honoured, sir, honoured!" cried Sir Benjamin, a little indistinctly. "Brother o' thine ... brother o' mine! Brothers all 'n' hearty good flows! We meet in Shoreham t'morrow ... and there we'll crack a bottle to——" But here his impatient steed reared and set off at such pace as very soon bounced Sir Benjamin out of sight.
"So ho!" quoth Absalom, his shapely lips upcurving in quirkish smile. "Here then is your brother, eh, mess-mate?"
"Half-brother!" Adam corrected.
"Lord," exclaimed Captain Smy, piously. "May the Lord aid and bless us!"
"Gentlemen, your ... your servant!" said Mr. Anthony, bowing, and if his voice was a little uncertain his air and carriage were sufficiently masculine.
"But," said Absalom, returning this salutation, "Mr. Anthony, sir,—your present complexion astounds me, your dainty skin once so delicate, so purely white, now so fiercely tanned and sunburnt! Pray how cometh such sudden metamorphosis?"
"Walnut juice, sir!" answered Anthony with look and tone virile as possible. "Our clever Mother Martha's doing and suits me, I think." So saying, this manly-showing Mr. Anthony glanced at Adam, at goggle-eyed Captain Smy, looked at handsome, smiling Absalom and then, flushing swift and painfully beneath his quizzical gaze, turned and fled into the house with grace of movement extremely feminine.
This same evening after supper, said Absalom, yawning:
"Brother Adam, I've that to tell ye touching our venture overseas the which is but right ye should hear afore we sleep. So presently, over a noggin, I'll talk and you shall hearken."
"So be it," answered Adam, gazing pensively out through the open lattice where a full moon was filling this summer night with a pale splendour. "Meantime I'll go walk in the garden."
"Ay, ay. I'll with ye there anon."
So forth went Adam slow pacing to breathe deep of this sweet air, to gaze away at great, rising moon to see there, as his childish eyes had so often seen,—the dog, the man with his bundle of faggots—or face of that serene and gracious lady the Moon Goddess. But to-night, and for the first time in all his life, he visioned there a face he thought far lovelier, a face quick and vivid with life and framed in hair of a tawny brightness; and as he visioned thus Antonia's features, so in his ears was the sweet echo of her soft, deep voice. At rustle of leaves behind him, he checked to turn, but in that moment, moon and face and dreamful fantasies were smitten into nothingness ... he staggered, pitched headlong and lay as motionless and heedless of all things as the dewy turf that pillowed his pallid, bloodstained brow.
CHAPTER VII
HOW ADAM CAME ABOARD THE STOUT SHIP "LONDON MERCHANT"
He opened his eyes to sense of pain in a creaking gloom dim lit by a lanthorn that swayed dizzily to and fro, and himself half-dressed upon narrow bed that heaved beneath him with rhythmic yet uneasy motion. Against the panelling hard by hung his coat, girdle and father's sword, and these also swung and swayed, while, with their every to and fro movement came that strange, never-ending creak and groan. And in this moment of slow awakening to pain of body and distress of mind the mere sight of this, his father's sword, its cut-steel pommel and gracefully curved quillons and counter-guards, brought him strange comfort and solace. Little by little above the persistent groan and creak that seemed to fill the very air about him, he distinguished other sounds remote and indefinable,—a vague stir and bustle above and around him, a piping wail that rose and fell, distant voices, faint and dream-like ... and then, close at hand, a real and unmistakable sniff ... a sob ... a stifled moan.
Now lifting hand to aching head he found it bandaged, but, the moan being repeated, he contrived to sit up.
"Antonia?" he murmured.
A dim curtain was pulled aside and the swaying lamp showed him the bright sheen of tawny hair. Then she was beside him on her knees.
"Yes, 'tis me, Adam!" she whispered. "Only me! And oh, thank God you are come alive again, for I am nigh dead with fear."
"Why then," he answered, venturing to touch her bright hair, "now is the time to show your boldest."
"Nay but ... this great ship ... so very many rough men ... and now a dreadful storm o' wind and monstrous waves to drown us!"
"So then ... we are at sea, Antonia?"
"And a fearsome tempest raging, Adam! Do but see ... see how everything tumbles and sways and shivers ... and the ship squeaking ... crying out in every timber as ready to break and let in the awful waves. And all this dreads me, for I ha' never been to sea."
"Neither have I," he answered, "and a very uneasy business I prove it."
"Then you will not be angry with me that I am so fearful?"
"Not I, Antonia, for there are few creatures that have not known fear at some time. And yet my ... my wise father showed me how terror should make us but the more valiant,—the which, though a paradox, is yet very truth as well I do know, for I am oft-times very fearful.... So now," said he, glancing up at the swaying sword, "if we are to drown indeed ... there are worse deaths."
"Oh, I know ... I know!" she gasped, pressing closer against him. "I know this—but if I am to live on this great ship ... so many fearsome men ... and I ... alone!"
"Nay, Antonia, I am here also. And no man shall harm thee while I live. But do thy best to show manly as possible ... and I must take all heed to name thee always Anthony. Now be thy boldest, Anthony, call on thy valiant soul and be of good heart.... Tell me, how came I on this ship?"
"Oh, Adam, now what selfish wretch am I! You were sore hurt and I do but think on and grieve for myself."
"I was struck down in the garden and, as I guess, by the man Abner."
"Indeed, he would ha' murdered thee, Adam, but looking from my window, I chanced to see, and screamed murder on him till came the Captain and Master Troy and shot him, but vainly, for he got him away."
"So have I a sore head, Antonia, and serves me right, Anthony, for being dreamy fool and unwary dolt."
"At the first we thought thee dead, Adam, and they were for leaving us behind, next day, but Master Troy would not. 'Twas he bore you before him on his horse all the way and carried you in his arms like a baby, Adam. Oh, he is very tall and strong."
"And I so small and weak, Anthony! Howbeit, I am no baby."
"No indeed, indeed no, Adam, thou'rt strong too yet in manner so ... so different."
"So it was Absalom brought me into this ship?"
"Yes, Adam. And when Captain Smy would have left poor me, Master Troy would nowise suffer I should be so deserted. He is a very kind man, Adam."
"He is indeed, Anthony."
"And yet I ... hate him!" said she, and so fiercely that Adam stared in wonder.
"Why so?" he questioned.
"For that when he looks on me and ... smiles, then and despite this manly guise, I know myself a ... a woman."
"Hum!" quoth Adam, pinching his chin and gazing up at the lanthorn very wistfully.
"Adam, why should this be, think you?"
"Mayhap because he is ... so very much a man!" Adam answered, and sighed very deeply.
"Well, I hate men! They are no more than mere beasts on two legs 'stead o' four."