Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Charles I, 1625-1649 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
For a little while Crispin sat quite still, stripped of his last rag of
hope. Then suddenly bracing himself, he sprang up, despite his weakness.
“Bring him to me. I will see him at once.”
“Tout-a-l'heure, monsieur,” replied the landlord. “At the moment he is
absent. He went out to take the air a couple of hours ago, and is not
yet returned.”
“Heaven send he has walked into the sea!” Crispin broke out
passionately. Then as passionately he checked himself. “No, no, my
God--not that! I meant not that.”
“Monsieur will sup?”
“At once, and let me have lights.” The host withdrew, to return a moment
later with a couple of lighted tapers, which he set upon the table.
As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair, accompanied by
the clank of a scabbard against the baluster.
“Here comes milord's countryman,” the landlord announced.
And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the doorway the
burly form of Harry Hogan.
He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition. With
a sad smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand affectionately upon
Galliard's shoulder.
“Welcome to France, Crispin,” said he. “If not him whom you looked to
find, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you.”
“Hogan!” gasped the knight. “What make you here? How came you here?
Where is Jocelyn?”
The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed and sank
down upon a chair. “You have brought the lady?” he asked.
“She is here. She will be with us presently.”
Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully.
“But where is Jocelyn?” cried Galliard again, and his haggard face
looked very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon his
companion. “Why is he not here?”
“I have bad news.”
“Bad news?” muttered Crispin, as though he understood not the meaning of
the words. “Bad news?” he repeated musingly. Then bracing himself, “What
is this news?”
“And you have brought the lady too!” Hogan complained. “Faith, I had
hoped that you had failed in that at least.”
“Sdeath, Harry,” Crispin exclaimed. “Will you tell me the news?”
Hogan pondered a moment. Then:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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