He drank of his wine, then with a slight laugh and wave of his hand dismissed a subject too grave for the hour.  A little later he arose with his guests from the table, and since time was passing and for some there was much to do, men began to exchange farewells.  To-morrow would see the adventurers gone from England; to-day kinsmen and friends must say good-by, warmly, with clasping of hands and embracing, even with tears, for it was an age when men did not scorn to show emotion.  A thousand perils awaited those who went, nor for those who stayed would time or tide make tarrying.  It was most possible that they who parted now would find, this side eternity, no second inn of meeting.

From his perch beside the door, the boy in blue and silver watched his master’s guests step into the sunlight and go away.  A throng had gathered in front of the tavern, for the most part of those within were men of note, and Sir John Nevil’s adventure to the Indies had long been general talk.  Singly or in little groups the revellers issued from the tavern, and for this or that known figure and favorite the crowd had its comment and cheering.  At last all were gone save the adventurers themselves, who, having certain final arrangements to make, stayed to hold council in the Triple Tun’s long room.

Their conference was not long.  Presently came forth Captain Baptist Manwood of the Marigold with his lieutenants, Wynch and Paget, and Captain Robert Baldry of the Star.  The four, talking together, started towards the waterside where they were to take boat for the ships that lay above Greenwich, but ere they had gone forty paces Baldry felt his sleeve twitched.  Turning, he found at his elbow the blue and silver sprig who served Sir Mortimer Ferne.

“Save you, sir,” said the boy.  “There’s a gentleman at the Triple Tun desires your honor would give him five minutes of your company.”

“I did expect a man of my acquaintance, a Paul’s man with a good rapier to sell,” quoth Baldry.  “Boy, is the gentleman a lean gentleman with a Duke Humphrey look?  Wait for me, sirs, at the stairs!”

Within the Triple Tun, Sir John Nevil yet sat at table pondering certain maps and charts spread out before him, while Mortimer Ferne, having re-entered the room after a moment’s absence, leaned over his commander’s shoulder and watched the latter’s forefinger tracing the coastline from the Cape of Three Points to Golden Castile.  By the window stood Arden, while on a settle near him lounged Henry Sedley, lieutenant to the Captain of the Cygnet; moreover a young gentleman of great promise, a smooth, dark, melancholy beauty, and a pretty taste in dress.  In his hands was a gittern which had been hanging on the wall above him, and he played upon it, softly, a sweet and plaintive air.

In upon these four burst Baldry, who, not finding the Paul’s man and trader in rapiers, drew himself up sharply.  Sir Mortimer came forward and made him a low bow, which he, not to be outdone in courtesy, any more than in weightier matters, returned in his own manner, fierce and arrogant as that of a Spanish conquistador.