“But since he refused to take part in the scene at Carfax, and as his companions were firm as himself, they are kept yet in the same foul place.  And if help come not they will certainly die; for how can men recover of sickness without some care, or tendance, or better nourishment than will be given them there?  Ah, it makes my blood boil to think of it!”

It was almost impossible for Dalaber to rejoice in his own freedom and in the beauty of all about him, so woeful were his thoughts about this man whom he so greatly loved.  He went to his room that night, but sleep came not to him.  He paced to and fro in a strange tumult of mind; and with the first light of dawn he clad himself in his riding suit, and when the household began to stir he sought a servant, and bade him tell the master that he desired instant speech of him.

Arthur came in brief space, and looked with surprise into Dalaber’s pale, set face.  His wan looks told of his sleepless vigil, but he gave no chance for questions to be asked.  He spoke himself, and that rapidly.

“Arthur, I must forthwith to London.  Canst thou lend me a good horse?  Else I must needs go afoot.”

“A horse!  Why, the pick of the stable is at thy service, friend Anthony.  But whither away so fast, and wherefore?”

“I go to seek speech with the cardinal.”

“With the cardinal, quotha?  And wherefore with him?”

“I go to ask the life of Master Clarke.  They say the cardinal is not bloodthirsty or cruel.  I will prove that for mine own self.  And if a victim must needs be had, I will offer myself in his place.

“Yes, Arthur, I will.  Seek not to stay me by fair words.  Methinks I have had too much of such.  I have been cozened both by friend and by foe—­for mine own good, as they would say, but not I. My heart is heavy and hot within me.  If Clarke is to lie languishing in prison, let me lie there with him.  There can be a worse prison house of the soul than any made by bolts and bars.  We can suffer as keenly in such a place as this as in the lowest depth of a dungeon.  I have made trial of both.  I know what I say.  Seek not to stay me, good Arthur, for I must needs go.  The fire burns hot within me.  It will not be quenched.”

Arthur looked keenly at him.  He was silent for a very brief while, and then he spoke quietly and persuasively.

“Thou shalt go, Anthony; but wait only for Monday.  Thou art in need of rest, and upon the eve of the festival of Easter thou wouldst never get nigh to the cardinal.  Thou art not fit for the long ride today.  In two days more thou wilt be in better case for the journey.  And I myself will be thy companion, for I have some friends in high places who will lend me their help; and it will be strange if together we cannot succeed in obtaining sight and speech of the cardinal, and proffering our petition.  Only wait these two days, that thou mayest be more fit for the fatigues lying before thee.”