The Greatest Novels of Charles Reade. Charles Reade Reade

between the pedestrians like a four-legged table on castors.

      “I trow ye are from the 'Tete d'Or?'” They assented. “Which of ye is the younger?”

      “He that was born the later,” said Denys, winking at his companion.

      “Gramercy for the news.”

      “Come, divine then!”

      “And shall. Thy beard is ripe, thy fellow's is green; he shall be the younger; here, youngster.” And he held him out a paper packet. “Ye left this at the 'Tete d'Or,' and our mistress sends it ye.”

      “Nay, good fellow, methinks I left nought.” And Gerard felt his pouch. etc.

      “Would ye make our burgess a liar,” said the rustic reproachfully; “and shall I have no pourboire?” (still more reproachfully); “and came ventre a terre.”

      “Nay, thou shalt have pourboire,” and he gave him a small coin.

      “A la bonne heure,” cried the clown, and his features beamed with disproportionate joy. “The Virgin go with ye; come up, Jenny!” and back he went “stomach to earth,” as his nation is pleased to call it.

      Gerard undid the packet; it was about six inches square, and inside it he found another packet, which contained a packet, and so on. At the fourth he hurled the whole thing into the snow. Denys took it out and rebuked his petulance. He excused himself on the ground of hating affectation.

      Denys attested, “'The great toe of the little daughter of Herodias' there was no affectation here, but only woman's good wit. Doubtless the wraps contained something which out of delicacy, or her sex's lovely cunning, she would not her hind should see her bestow on a young man; thy garter, to wit.”

      “I wear none.”

      “Her own then; or a lock of her hair. What is this? A piece of raw silk fresh from the worm. Well, of all the love tokens!”

      “Now who but thee ever dreamed that she is so naught as send me love tokens? I saw no harm in her—barring her hands.”

      “Stay, here is something hard lurking in this soft nest. Come forth, I say, little nestling! Saints and pikestaves! look at this!”

      It was a gold ring with a great amethyst glowing and sparkling, full coloured, but pure as crystal.

      “How lovely!” said Gerard innocently.

      “And here is something writ; read it thou! I read not so glib as some, when I know not the matter beforehand.”

      Gerard took the paper. “'Tis a posy, and fairly enough writ.” He read the lines, blushing like a girl. They were very naive, and may be thus Englished:—

      'Youth, with thee my heart is fledde,

      Come back to the 'golden Hedde!'

      Wilt not? yet this token keepe

      Of hir who doeth thy goeing weepe.

      Gyf the world prove harsh and cold,

      Come back to 'the Hedde of gold.'”

      “The little dove!” purred Denys.

      “The great owl! To go and risk her good name thus. However, thank Heaven she has played this prank with an honest lad that will ne'er expose her folly. But oh, the perverseness! Could she not bestow her nauseousness on thee?” Denys sighed and shrugged. “On thee that art as ripe for folly as herself?”

      Denys confessed that his young friend had harped his very thought. 'Twas passing strange to him that a damsel with eyes in her head should pass by a man, and bestow her affections on a boy. Still he could not but recognize in this the bounty of Nature. Boys were human beings after all, and but for this occasional caprice of women, their lot would be too terrible; they would be out of the sun altogether, blighted, and never come to anything; since only the fair could make a man out of such unpromising materials as a boy. Gerard interrupted this flattering discourse to beg the warrior-philosopher's acceptance of the lady's ring. He refused it flatly, and insisted on Gerard going back to the “Tete d'Or” at once, ring and all, like a man, and not letting a poor girl hold out her arms to him in vain.

      “Her hands, you mean.”

      “Her hand, with the 'Tete d'Or' in it.”

      Failing in this, he was for putting the ring on his friend's finger. Gerard declined. “I wear a ring already.”

      “What, that sorry gimcrack? why, 'tis pewter, or tin at best: and this virgin gold, forbye the jewel.”

      “Ay, but 'twas Margaret gave me this one; and I value it above rubies. I'll neither part with it nor give it a rival,” and he kissed the base metal, and bade it fear nought.

      “I see the owl hath sent her ring to a goose,” said Denys sorrowfully. However, he prevailed on Gerard to fasten it inside his bonnet. To this, indeed, the lad consented very readily. For sovereign qualities were universally ascribed to certain jewels; and the amethyst ranked high among these precious talismans.

      When this was disposed of, Gerard earnestly requested his friend to let the matter drop, since speaking of the other sex to him made him pine so for Margaret, and almost unmanned him with the thought that each step was taking him farther from her. “I am no general lover, Denys. There is room in my heart for one sweetheart, and for one friend. I am far from my dear mistress; and my friend, a few leagues more, and I must lose him too. Oh, let me drink thy friendship pure while I may, and not dilute with any of these stupid females.”

      “And shalt, honey-pot, and shalt,” said Denys kindly'. “But as to my leaving thee at Remiremont, reckon thou not on that! For” (three consecutive oaths) “if I do. Nay, I shall propose to thee to stay forty-eight hours there, while I kiss my mother and sisters, and the females generally, and on go you and I together to the sea.”

      “Denys! Denys!”

      “Denys nor me! 'Tis settled. Gainsay me not! or I'll go with thee to Rome. Why not? his Holiness the Pope hath ever some little merry pleasant war toward, and a Burgundian soldier is still welcome in his ranks.”

      On this Gerard opened his heart. “Denys, ere I fell in with thee, I used often to halt on the road, unable to go farther: my puny heart so pulled me back: and then, after a short prayer to the saints for aid, would I rise and drag my most unwilling body onward. But since I joined company with thee, great is my courage. I have found the saying of the ancients true, that better is a bright comrade on the weary road than a horse-litter; and, dear brother, when I do think of what we have done and suffered together! Savedst my life from the bear, and from yet more savage thieves; and even poor I did make shift to draw thee out of Rhine, and somehow loved thee double from that hour. How many ties tender and strong between us! Had I my will, I'd never, never, never, never part with my Denys on this side the grave. Well-a-day! God His will be done.

      “No, my will shall be done this time,” shouted Denys. “Le bon Dieu has bigger fish to fry than you or me. I'll go with thee to Rome. There is my hand on it.”

      “Think what, you say! 'Tis impossible. 'Tis too selfish of me.”

      “I tell thee, 'tis settled. No power can change me. At Remiremont I borrow ten pieces of my uncle, and on we go; 'tis fixed.”

      They shook hands over it. Then Gerard said nothing, for his heart was too full; but he ran twice round his companion as he walked, then danced backwards in front of him, and finally took his hand, and so on they went hand in hand like sweethearts, till a company of mounted soldiers, about fifty in number, rose to sight on the brow of a hill.

      “See the banner of Burgundy,” said Denys joyfully; “I shall look out for a comrade among these.”

      “How gorgeous is the standard in the sun,” said Gerard “and how brave are the leaders with velvet and feathers, and steel breastplates like glassy mirrors!”

      When they came near enough to distinguish faces, Denys uttered an exclamation: “Why, 'tis the