He sat sunk in troubled thought, but I, being all this night torn to and fro by changing and warring moods, sprang up again and cried in boisterous scorn, "What, you believe these fables? Does God reveal hidden things to old crones? I thought you at Court were not the fools of such fancies! Aren't they fitter for rustic churls, Mr Darrell? God save us, do we live in the days of King James?" He answered me shortly and sternly, as though I had spoken of things not to be named lightly. "It is devil's work, all of it." "Then the devil is busier than he seems, even after a night at Court," I said. "But be it whose work it will, I'll do it. I'll find what he hides. I'll drink of his cup. Come, you're glum! Drink, friend Darrell! Darrell, what's in his cup, what does he hide? Darrell, what does the King hide?" I had caught him by the shoulder and was staring in his face. I was all aglow, and my eyes, no doubt, shone bright with excitement and the exhilaration of the wine. The look of me, or the hour of the night, or the working of his own superstition, got hold of him, for he sprang up, crying madly: "My God, do you know?" and glared into my face as though I had been the very devil of whom I spoke. We stood thus for a full minute. But I grew cool before my companion, wonder working the change in me sooner than confusion could in him. For my random ravings had most marvellously struck on something more than my sober speculations could discern. The man before me was mad--or he had a secret. And friend Darrell was no madman. "Do I know?" I asked. "Do I know what? What could I, Simon Dale, know? What in Heaven's name is there to know?" And I smiled cunningly, as though I sought to hide knowledge by a parade of ignorance. "Nothing, nothing," he muttered uneasily. "The wine's got into my head." "Yet you've drunk but two glasses; I had the rest," said I. "That damned Ranter has upset me," he growled. "That, and the talk of your cursed witch." "Can Ranters and witches make secrets where there are none?" said I with a laugh. "They can make fools think there are secrets where there are none," said he rudely. "And other fools ask if they're known," I retorted, but with a laugh; and I added, "I'm not for a quarrel, secret or no secret, so if that's your purpose in sitting the night through, to bed with you, my friend." Whether from prudence, or whether my good humour rebuked his temper, he grew more gentle; he looked at me kindly enough and sighed, as he said: "I was to be your guide in London, Simon; but you take your own path." "The path you shewed me was closed in my face," said I, "and I took the first that was opened to me." "By the Duke of Monmouth?" "Yes--or by another, if it had chanced to be another." "But why take any, Simon?" he urged persuasively. "Why not live in peace and leave these great folk alone?" "With all my heart," I cried. "Is it a bargain? Whither shall we fly from the turmoil?" "We!" he exclaimed with a start.