He came to his senses with a start. “Ay, sir?” he questioned, his face dark red. “Suppose you look at me for a change,” I said. “How long since Dale came in, Diccon?” “Ten years, sir.” “Before we enter Jamestown we'll pass through a certain field and beneath a certain tree. Do you remember what happened there, some years ago?” “I am not like to forget, sir. You saved me from the wheel.” “Upon which you were bound, ready to be broken for drunkenness, gaming, and loose living. I begged your life from Dale for no other reason, I think, than that you had been a horse-boy in my old company in the Low Countries. God wot, the life was scarcely worth the saving!” “I know it, sir.” “Dale would not let you go scot-free, but would sell you into slavery. At your own entreaty I bought you, since when you have served me indifferently well. You have showed small penitence for past misdeeds, and your amendment hath been of yet lesser bulk. A hardy rogue thou wast born, and a rogue thou wilt remain to the end of time. But we have lived and hunted, fought and bled together, and in our own fashion I think we bear each other good will,--even some love. I have winked at much, have shielded you in much, perhaps. In return I have demanded one thing, which if you had not given I would have found you another Dale to deal with.” “Have I ever refused it, my captain?” “Not yet. Take your hand from that pillion and hold it up; then say after me these words: 'This lady is my mistress, my master's wife, to be by me reverenced as such. Her face is not for my eyes nor her hand for my lips. If I keep not myself clean of all offense toward her, may God approve that which my master shall do!'” The blood rushed to his face. I watched his fingers slowly loosening their grasp. “Tardy obedience is of the house of mutiny,” I said sternly. “Will you, sirrah, or will you not?” He raised his hand and repeated the words. “Now hold her as before,” I ordered, and, straightening myself in the saddle, rode on, with my eyes once more on the path before me. A mile further on, Mistress Percy stirred and raised her head from my shoulder. “Not at Jamestown yet?” she sighed, as yet but half awake. “Oh, the endless trees! I dreamed I was hawking at Windsor, and then suddenly I was here in this forest, a bird, happy because I was free; and then a falcon came swooping down upon me,--it had me in its talons, and I changed to myself again, and it changed to--What am I saying? I am talking in my sleep. Who is that singing?” In fact, from the woods in front of us, and not a bowshot away, rang out a powerful voice:-- “'In the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, With a troop of damsels playing