Then Master Shakspere stretched himself a little in the sun, laughing softly, and said, “It is the sweetest music in the world—­morning, spring, and God’s dear sunshine; it starteth kindness brewing in the heart, like sap in a withered bud.  What sayest, lad?  We’ll fetch the little maid to-day; and then—­away for Stratford town!”

* * * * *

But when Master Shakspere and Nicholas Attwood came to Gaston Carew’s house, the constables had taken charge, the servants were scattering hither and thither, and Cicely Carew was gone.

The bandy-legged man, the butler said, had come on Sunday in great haste, and packing up his goods, without a word of what had befallen his master, had gone away, no one knew whither, and had taken Cicely with him.  Nor had they questioned what he did, for they all feared the rogue, and judged him to have authority.

Nick caught a moment at the lintel of the door.  The house was full of voices, and the sound of trampling feet went up and down from room to room; but all he heard was Gaston Carew’s worn voice saying, “Thou’lt keep my Cicely from harm?”

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN

Until night fell they sought the town over for a trace of Cicely; but all to no avail.  The second day likewise.

The third day passed, and still there were no tidings.  Master Shakspere’s face grew very grave, and Nick’s heart sickened till he quite forgot that he was going home.

But on the morning of the fourth day, which chanced to be the 1st of May, as he was standing in the door of a printer’s stall in St. Paul’s Churchyard, watching the gaily dressed holiday crowds go up and down, while Robin Dexter’s apprentices bound white-thorn boughs about the brazen serpent overhead, he spied the bandy-legged man among the rout that passed the north gate by St. Martin’s le Grand.

He had a yellow ribbon in his ear, and wore a bright plum-colored cloak, at sight of which Nick cried aloud, for it was the very cloak which Master Gaston Carew wore when he first met him in the Warwick road.  The rogue was making for the way which ran from Cheapside to the river, and was walking very fast.

“Master Shakspere!  Master Shakspere!” Nick called out.  But Master Shakspere was deep in the proofs of a newly published play, and did not hear.

The yellow ribbon fluttered in the sun—­was gone behind the churchyard wall.

“Quick, Master Shakspere! quick!” Nick cried; but the master-writer frowned at the inky page; for the light in the printer’s shop was dim, and the proof was very bad.

The ribbon was gone down the river-way—­and with it the hope of finding Cicely.  Nick shot one look into the stall.  Master Shakspere, deep in his proofs, was deaf to the world outside.  Nick ran to the gate at the top of his speed.  In the crowd afar off a yellow spot went fluttering like a butterfly along a country road.  Without a single second thought, he followed it as fast as his legs could go.