Philip strove to keep the horns of the rising devil out of his heart, and averting his head, stepped on one side to allow the other to pass.  Spikeman noticed the desire,—­for it was too marked not to be observed; and in a new country, even strangers are not in the habit of passing one another without greeting,—­but he paid no attention to it; and as he came up, laid his hand on Philip’s shoulder, and bade him a good morning.

The soldier started as though pierced by a thorn, and shaking off the hand roughly, requested the Assistant to go on his way and leave him to himself.

“How now,” exclaimed Spikeman.  “Methinks this is cold welcome for a friend.”

“Pass on thy way,” said the soldier.  “I desire not thy company.”

“Verily, am I amazed,” said Spikeman.  “Surely, to confer a favor on the unthankful, is like pouring water on sand.”

“I do advise thee, Master Spikeman,” said Philip, “to cease thine abuse.  I am no longer a fool stumbling along with his eyes blinded.”

The curiosity of the Assistant had been aroused at the beginning, and he determined to ascertain how far Philip’s knowledge of his conduct extended, for his guilty conscience whispered that some discovery of the soldier occasioned the changed behavior.  It might be caused only by suspicion, and if so, he trusted by his ingenuity to dispel it; but if he had been betrayed, it was important that he should know it.  The Assistant, moreover, was curious to learn from the soldier himself, why he had not broken jail as advised.  He concluded that the soldier had not; for had he done so, the escape would probably have been known by morning; yet was Spikeman confident that Philip at the time of their interview in the jail had no knowledge of the order for his release.  Perhaps Bars had overcome in the struggle, and disregarded it.  With doubts like these floating through his mind, he began to probe Philip.

“What ails thee?” he inquired.  “It would seem as if you took me for an enemy, and yet have I not always approved myself thy friend, even jeopardizing my position as a magistrate no longer ago than yesternight to release thee from jail?”

“Master Spikeman,” answered Philip, “thou dost well know, I doubt not, that I am at liberty, not because I did by thy advice knock out the brains of harmless Sam Bars, but by the grace of the Governor’s order.”

“I counselled no more violence than was necessary to effect thy purpose; but who moved the Governor in thy case?

“Not thou, as I am well advised, but the noble Knight of the Golden Melice, a man as much superior to thee, as I am to an Indian.”

“Thou art mad and vituperative, Philip, and were it not so early, I should think thou hadst been indulging too liberally in drafts of aqua vitae.  It is a vile habit.  But as the Archangel Michael returned not a railing accusation, but said, the Lord rebuke, thee, Satan, so say I unto thee.  Truly, I comprehend thy game.  Thou art weary of thy old friends, and being desirous to propitiate new, dost seek a quarrel to mask thine ingratitude.  But see whether this famous knight prove not a broken reed.”