His antagonist bit his lip until the blood sprang.  “The insult was gross,” he said, with haughtiness, “but since I may not deny the truth of your words, John Nevil, I will reword my cartel.  Captain Robert Baldry, I do solemnly challenge you to meet me with sword and dagger upon that day which sees our return to England!”

“A far day that, perhaps!” cried Baldry.  “But so be it!  I’ll not fail you, Sir Mortimer Ferne.  Look that you fail not me!”

“Sir!” cried Ferne, sharply.

The Admiral struck the table a great blow.  “Gentlemen, no more of this!  What! will you in this mood go forth side by side to meet a common foe?  Nay, I must have you touch hands!”

The Captain of the Cygnet held out his hand.  He of the Star first swore, then burst into a great laugh; finally laid his own upon it.

“Now we are turtle-doves, Sir John, nothing less! and the Star and the Cygnet may bill and coo from the Thames to Terra Firma!” Suddenly he ceased to laugh, and let fall his hand.  “But I have not forgotten,” he said, “that at Fayal in the Azores I had a brother slain.”

He was gone, swinging from the room with scant ceremony, loudly ordering from his path the loiterers at the inn door.  They whose company he had quitted were silent for a moment; then said Sir Mortimer, slowly:  “I remember now—­there was a Thomas Baldry, master of the Speedwell.  Well, it was a sorry business that day!  If from that muck of blood and horror was born Detraction—­”

“The man was mad!” thrust in young Sedley, hotly.  “Detraction and you have no acquaintance.”

Ferne, with a slight laugh, stooped to pick up the fallen gittern.  “She kept knighthood and me apart for a year, Henry.  ’Tis a powerful dame, a most subtle and womanish foe, who knoweth not or esteemeth not the rules of chivalry.  Having yielded to plain Truth, she yet, as to-day, raiseth unawares an arm to strike.”  He hung the gittern upon its peg, then went across to the Admiral and put both hands upon his shoulders.  The smile was yet upon his lips, but his voice had a bitter ring.  “John, John,” he said, “old wounds leave not their aching.  That tall, fanfaronading fellow hath a power to anger me,—­not his words alone, but the man himself....  Well, let him go until the day we come sailing back to England!  For his words—­” He paused and a shadow came over his face.  “Who knows himself?” he said.  “There are times when I look within and doubt my every quality that men are pleased to give me.  God smiles upon me—­perhaps He smiles with contempt!...  I would that I had followed, not led, that day at Fayal!”

Arden burst into a laugh.  The Admiral turned and stared at him who had spoken with a countenance half severity, half deep affection.  “What! stings that yet?” he said.  “I think you may have that knowledge of yourself that you were born to lead, and that knowledge of higher things that shame is of the devil, but defeat ofttimes of God.  How idly do we talk to-day!”