A faint red swept into the other’s countenance.  “If I do as you bid, I may not go unrecognized.  I say not, ‘Spare me this, John Nevil!’ I only ask, ’Is it wise?’...  Sir Francis Drake is commander here.  Four years ago he swore that you were too merciful, that in your place he would have played hangsman to me more blithely than he played headsman to Thomas Doughty.”

“I sail not under Francis Drake,” Nevil answered.  “Meeting me with two goodly ships at the Terceiras, he was fain enough to have me join my force to his.  Over my own I hold command, and I shall claim you as my own.  But you have no fear of Francis Drake!  Is it your thought that your shield is forever reversed, and that you are only welcome, only unashamed, yonder where sickness stretches forth its hands, and Death gives back before you?  If it is so, yet be that which you are!—­No Spanish friar, but English knight and gentleman.  If it be known to high and low that once you fell, then face that knowledge with humility of heart, with simplicity, but with the outward ease and bearing of that estate in which God placed you.  This garb becomes you not, who are yet a soldier of England.  Away with it!—­then in singleness of mind press onward along thy rocky road until God calls thee at last to His green meadows, to His high city.  Ah, my friend!  I give but poor and meagre words to that I read within thy eyes.  There is no need for me to speak at all when thy lit soul looks out upon me!”

The dawn began to show faint splendors, and the winds of morning drove aslant the candle flames.  Ferne shook his head and his countenance darkened somewhat with vain regrets and sharp memories of old agonies.  “Not that, my friend!  I am changed, but God knows—­not I—­what other change would come did He lift His rod.  Once I thought I knew all right from all wrong, all darkness from all light—­yea, and I strove to practise that knowledge....  I think now that to every man may come an hour when pride and assurance go down—­when for evermore he hath that wisdom that he no longer knows himself.”  He smiled.  “But I will do what you ask, John.  It were strange, were it not, if I refused you this?” As he passed Nevil, the two touched hands again.  Another moment and the door of the inner room closed upon him.  Sir John, awaiting his return, began to quench the candles one by one, for there was no need of other light than the flooding dawn.

Some minutes had passed, when a knock at the outward door interrupted his employment.  Crossing the floor, he opened to Sir Francis Drake, who stood alone upon the threshold, his escort trampling down the stone stairs to the hall beneath.  Nevil uttered an exclamation, which the other met with his bluff, short laugh.

“So you as well as I have let the jade Sleep slip by this night!” He brushed past Nevil into the room.  “I gave it up an hour agone, and am come to take counsel before breakfast.  At the nooning Carlisle and Cecil will bring me the opinions of the captains, land and sea.  I know already their conclusion and my answer.  But I deny not that ’twill be a bitter draught.”  He did not take the great chair which Nevil indicated, but kept on to the window, where with a sound, half sigh, half oath, he flung himself down upon the broad seat.