"What do I hear?" exclaimed Jacob Hartop. "Didst thou not speak the name of Francis Drake--Sir Francis Drake? God be thanked! Then he is still alive, eh? And hath risen in the world since the days when he and I were shipmates? Sir Francis, forsooth! Well, he deserveth all the honours that a prince can bestow upon him. Right well do I mind the time when we were at Nombre de Dios. Ah! that was a time, my masters. But 'tis a long story. Whither are ye bound for?" "We go to the manor-house of Modbury," answered Timothy. "Ah! I know it well," returned Hartop as he trudged along the lane at Gilbert's right side. "'Tis my Lord Champernoun's place, and I doubt not you will both be in his lordship's service--pages in his household belike?" He did not wait for an answer to his last remark, but went on with a cheerfulness that was surprising in an old man; a man, moreover, who had just been robbed of all his worldly wealth: "Prithee, have they mended the old bell that hung in the little turret above the stables? Ha, ha! 'Twas I that broke it, flinging a stone at a blue jay that was perched upon the weather-vane. Many are the apples and pears I stole from out the orchard there; ay, and the rabbits and pheasants I trapped i' the woods! His lordship had a Flanders mare by name Nancy, that he was wont to ride upon to London. She had a white star betwixt her eyes, and a most shrewish temper withal. None could ride her but his lordship and William Stevens; though 'tis true she would willingly eat an apple o' mornings from out my lady's hand. Is the animal still as full of her tricks as she used to be?" "'Tis like enough that the animal is in her grave these twenty years, Master Hartop," said Timothy, smiling to himself at the old man's memory of a time long past. "Ay, like enough, like enough," mused the old man. "Time doth slip by with astonishing speed--though, indeed, 'twas laggard enough in the galleys and in the prison of Cadiz." "I pray you tarry a moment," interposed Gilbert, suppressing a groan of pain. "I cannot walk so fast. My ankle hurts me at every step. I beg you haul off my boot, Tim, to give me a few moments' ease. Come closer, Master Hartop, and let me lean on your shoulder." The old man obeyed, while Timothy went down on his knees in the mud and tried, but with little success, to remove the offending boot. He was interrupted by a sudden cry from Hartop. "God bless us all, what is this?" the mariner cried, running his hand over Gilbert's right arm. "There be surely more wet here than hath come from a few flakes of snow. Why, 'tis blood, my master, 'tis blood! Thou art wounded!" "Wounded?" echoed Timothy rising excitedly to his feet. "Oh, my master! Wherefore didst thou not tell us of this before? Where is the wound?" "The fellow's rapier pierced me in the arm," explained Gilbert in a faint voice, as he leaned yet more helplessly on Hartop's shoulder. "But 'tis not much, I do assure you."