The robber--for he was one of the two robbers who had attacked Sir Edgar de Neville on the previous evening--faintly smiled as he replied,--“And does thy memory bear thee no further back, Master Hildebrand? What the good year! can such a brief time as this, which has barely made thee a man, efface the memories of a whole boyhood? Then, in good sooth, Master Hildebrand, I am not the man to claim thy acquaintance.” “Hold!” exclaimed the cavalier, springing forward, and seizing the robber by the arm; “thou seemest to know me, and, by my conscience, now I behold thee nearer, thy face doth strike me like an old friend’s; who art thou?” “When thy poor old father,” answered the robber, with some emotion, “had been burned for heresy, in the reign of scarlet Mary, it was my hands laid his ashes in yonder grave. When your mother was houseless, with shame on her brow, and the pang of sorrow in her heart, it was I gave her a refuge, and held her safe from the hellish Papists. When her saintly heart beat its last, it was my hands laid her there, by the side of your father. Nay, hear me out! I cherished thee, their offspring: such lore as I had knowledge of I taught thee, and would, in time, have had thee better taught; but--” “You lost me, good Bernard,” said the cavalier, seizing him by the hand. “Nay, I’ll not clasp thy hand,” said the robber, though at the same time suffering the cavalier to take his hand up. “Thy hand has met the clasp of Papists; and by my sweet Saviour, whom they once made me deny, mine never shall.” “Nay, good Bernard Gray, this is hardly honest,” said the cavalier, in a tone of remonstrance. “By my faith, I did not seek the Nevilles; I was seeking thee, not them, when they fell unhappily in my way. I did but help the weaker side.” “Was it any concern of thine?” demanded the man called Bernard Gray, his eyes lighting up with the fiercest enthusiasm. “Am I to be thwarted in my revenges by thee?” “’Twas not the Nevilles, Bernard, Papists though they be, that burned my father,” said the cavalier. “Be they not of the devil’s flock?” returned Bernard. “But though it hath cost me my comrade’s life, let it pass now; and tell me, if thou canst, what ill deed of mine led thee to run away from me.” “Alas! Bernard, I never ran from thee,” answered the cavalier; “I was forced away, and carried off, against my will, to the new plantations. Thence I finally escaped, and, getting on shipboard, became a mariner. I have prospered on the seas, and am now, I thank Heaven, well to do in the world.” “Forced away, saidst thou?” rejoined Bernard. “This must be honest Master Shedlock’s work.” “He was secure of my patrimony,” observed the cavalier, “yet would he have made me a slave.” “And a bastard,” muttered Bernard. “Even so,” answered the cavalier. “But he may be foiled yet,” resumed Bernard. “Where art thou staying?”