It was a grievous story. And one-half of it had not been told. And he knew it to be all compact of those elements of which his own mind was formed. It was such a tale of passion, of poetry, of high romance as the imagination could not surpass, and the living evidence of it was before him. A great desire to help these hapless wanderers surged in this man’s soul. There were those who were seeking them far and near; a price was on the head of Heriot; yet if he were allowed to get clear it might be that a cruel and shameful penalty would be paid by a man of stainless honor. All these swift thoughts were thrown into the alembic of that wonderful mind. But the call of nature was too strong; his heart went out to these fugitives in their tragic need. Cost what it may, he must render any help that lay in his power. “Mr. Heriot,” said the player after a long interval of silence had passed, “I would fain save your life?” The young man shook his head gravely. “There’s little chance of that unless I fly the country.” “I was thinking so,” said the player. “But in order to do that I must have some money. And I will now tell you, sir--” Gervase sank his voice very low--“the manner in which I propose to get it.” Thereupon the young man divulged the plan he had formed of visiting his uncle that night. “Simon Heriot lives in solitude in his gloomy old manor-house but ten miles off, with only a few decrepit old servants to take care of him. And my design is to break into his house in the middle of this very night, to frighten the wits out of the old knave and make him disgorge money enough for mine and my brother’s journey across the seas.” This hasty and ill-considered scheme, however, did not appeal to the player. It was too clearly the expedient of a thoroughly desperate man. There were many reasons which seemed to make it impracticable. “No, Mr. Heriot,” he said, “I do not think that way is to be commended. Let us try to find a better. I will go and think upon this matter. And in the meantime do you and your friend remain here and I will send you out some food, which I have no doubt will come not amiss to you.” For that surmise at least the player had good warrant. Soon a stately pigeon pie and a noble flagon of October ale were laid on the bench before them. And they were able to eat without misgiving. They had given this man all their trust, and they had staked their lives on the fact that he was incapable of betraying it. CHAPTER XIX MEANWHILE William Shakespeare had gone in quest of Richard Burbage, that _fidus Achates_ whose counsel was often invoked by this eager, but, at times, irresolute spirit. Now, however, Shakespeare was fully determined to help these ill-starred fugitives to the utmost of his power.