A Set of Rogues

  CHAPTER II.

  _Of our first acquaintance with the Senor Don Sanchez del Castillo deCastelana, and his brave entertaining of us._

  I was taking a turn or two outside the shed,--for the sight of JackDawson hugging poor Moll to his breast and trying to soothe her bodilymisery with gentle words was more than I could bear,--when a drawercoming across from the inn told me that a gentleman in the Cherry roomwould have us come to him. I gave him a civil answer and carried thismessage to my friends. Moll, who had staunched her tears and was smilingpiteously, though her sobs, like those of a child, still shook her thinframe, and her father both looked at me in blank doubt as fearing sometrap for our further discomfiture.

  "Nay," says Jack, stoutly. "Fate can serve us no worse within doors thanwithout, so let us in and face this gentleman, whoever he is."

  So in we go, and all sodden and bedrabbled as we were, went to followthe drawer upstairs, when the landlady cried out she would not have usgo into her Cherry room in that pickle, to soil her best furniture anddisgrace her house, and bade the fellow carry us into the kitchen totake off our cloaks and change our boots for slip-shoes, adding that ifwe had any respect for ourselves, we should trim our hair and wash thegrime off our faces. So we enter the kitchen, nothing loath, where acouple of pullets browning on the spit, kettles bubbling on the fire,and a pasty drawing from the oven, filled the air with delicious odoursthat nearly drove us mad for envy; and to think that these good thingswere to tempt the appetite of some one who never hungered, while we,famishing for want, had not even a crust to appease our cravings! But itwas some comfort to plunge our blue, numbed fingers into a tub of hotwater and feel the life blood creeping back into our hearts. The paintwe had put on our cheeks the night before was streaked all over ourfaces by the snow, so that we did look the veriest scarecrowsimaginable; but after washing our heads well and stroking our hair intoorder with a comb Mistress Cook lent us, we looked not so bad. And thuschanged, and with dry shoes to our feet, we at length went upstairs, allfull of wondering expectation, and were led into the Cherry room, whichseemed to us a very palace, being lit with half a dozen candles (andthey of wax) and filled with a warm glow by the blazing logs on thehearth reflected in the cherry hangings. And there in the midst was atable laid for supper with a wondrous white cloth, glasses to drinkfrom, and silver forks all set out most bravely.

  "His worship will be down ere long," says the drawer, and with that hemakes a pretence of building up the fire, being warned thereto very likeby the landlady, with an eye to the safety of her silver.

  "Can you tell me his worship's name, friend?" I whispered, my mindturning at once to his worship of Tottenham Cross.

  "Not I, were you to pay me," says he. "'Tis that outlandish anduncommon. But for sure he is some great foreign grandee."

  He could tell us no more, so we stood there all together, wondering,till presently the door opens, and a tall, lean gentleman enters, with ahigh front, very finely dressed in linen stockings, a long-waisted coat,and embroidered waistcoat, and rich lace at his cuffs and throat. Hewore no peruke, but his own hair, cut quite close to his head, with apointed beard and a pair of long moustachios twisting up almost to hisears; but his appearance was the more striking by reason of his beardand moustachios being quite black, while the hair on his head was whiteas silver. He had dark brows also, that overhung very rich black eyes;his nose was long and hooked, and his skin, which was of a very darkcomplexion, was closely lined with wrinkles about the eyes, while a deepfurrow lay betwixt his brows. He carried his head very high, and wasmajestic and gracious in all his movements, not one of which (as itseemed to me) was made but of forethought and purpose. I should say hisage was about sixty, though his step and carriage were of a younger man.To my eyes he appeared a very handsome and a pleasing, amiablegentleman. But, Lord, what can you conclude of a man at a single glance,when every line in his face (of which he had a score and more) has eachits history of varying passions, known only to himself, and secretphases of his life!

  He saluted us with a most noble bow, and dismissed the drawer with aword in an undertone. Then turning again to us, he said: "I had thepleasure of seeing you act last night, and dance," he adds with a slightinclination of his head to Moll. "Naturally, I wish to be betteracquainted with you. Will it please you to dine with me?"

  I could not have been more dumbfounded had an angel asked me to stepinto heaven; but Dawson was quick enough to say something.

  "That will we," cries he, "and God bless your worship for taking pity onus, for I doubt not you have heard of our troubles."

  The other bowed his head and set a chair at the end of the table forMoll, which she took with a pretty curtsey, but saying never a word, forglee did seem to choke us all. And being seated, she cast her eyes onthe bread hungrily, as if she would fain begin at once, but she had thegood manners to restrain herself. Then his worship (as we called him),having shown us the chairs on either side, seated himself last of all,at the head of the table, facing our Moll, whom whenever he mightwithout discourtesy, he regarded with most scrutinising glances fromfirst to last. Then the door flinging open, two drawers brought in thosesame fat pullets we had seen browning before the fire, and also thepasty, with abundance of other good cheer, at which Moll, with a littlecry of delight, whispers to me:

  "'Tis like a dream. Do speak to me, Kit, or I must think 'twill all fadeaway presently and leave us in the snow."

  Then I, finding my tongue, begged his worship would pardon us if ourmanners were more uncouth than the society to which he was accustomed.

  "Nay," says Dawson, "Your worship will like us none the worse, Iwarrant, for seeing what we are and aping none."

  Finding himself thus beworshipped on both hands, our good friend says:

  "You may call me Senor. I am a Spaniard. Don Sanchez del Castillo deCastelana." And then to turn the subject, he adds: "I have seen you playtwice."

  "Aye, Senor, and I should have known you again if by nothing but thispiece of generosity," replies Dawson, with his cheek full of pasty, "forI remember both times you set down a piece and would take no change."

  Don Sanchez hunched his shoulders cavalierly, as if such trifles werenought to him; but indeed throughout his manner was most high and noble.

  And now, being fairly settled down to our repast, we said no more of anymoment that I can recall to mind till we had done (which was not untilnought remained of the pullets and the pasty but a few bones and thebare dish), and we were drawn round the fire at Don Sanchez'sinvitation. Then the drawers, having cleared the tables, brought up ahuge bowl of hot spiced wine, a dish of tobacco, and some pipes. The Donthen offered us to smoke some cigarros, but we, not understanding them,took instead our homely pipes, and each with a beaker of hot wine to hishand sat roasting before the fire, scarce saying a word, the Don beingsilent because his humour was of the reflective grave kind (with all hiscourtesies he never smiled, as if such demonstrations were unbecoming tohis dignity), and we from repletion and a feeling of wondrouscontentment and repose. And another thing served to keep us still, whichwas that our Moll, sitting beside her father, almost at once fellasleep, her head lying against his shoulder as he sat with his arm abouther waist. As at the table, Don Sanchez had seated himself where hecould best observe her, and now he scarcely once took his eyes off her,which were half closed as if in speculation. At length, taking thecigarro from his lips, he says softly to Jack Dawson, so as not toarouse Moll:

  "Your daughter."

  Jack nods for an answer, and looking down on her face with pride andtenderness, he put back with the stem of his pipe a little curl that hadstrayed over her eyes. She was not amiss for looks thus, with her longeyelashes lying like a fringe upon her cheeks, her lips open, showingher good white teeth, and the glow of the firelight upon her face; buther attitude and the innocent, happy expression of her features made upa picture which seemed to me mighty pretty.

  "Where is her mother?" asks Don Sanchez, presently; and Dawson, withouttaking his eyes fr
om Moll's face, lifts his pipe upwards, while his bigthick lips fell a-trembling. Maybe, he was thinking of his poor Betty ashe looked at the child's face.

  "Has she no other relatives?" asks the Don, in the same quiet tone; andJack shakes his head, still looking down, and answers lowly:

  "Only me."

  Then after another pause the Don asks:

  "What will become of her?"

  And that thought also must have been in Jack Dawson's mind; for withoutseeming surprised by the question, which appeared a strange one, heanswers reverently, but with a shake in his hoarse voice, "Almighty Godknows."

  This stilled us all for the moment, and then Don Sanchez, seeing thatthese reflections threw a gloom upon us, turned to me, sitting next him,and asked if I would give him some account of my history, whereupon Ibriefly told him how three years ago Jack Dawson had lifted me out ofthe mire, and how since then we had lived in brotherhood. "And," says Iin conclusion, "we will continue with the favour of Providence to liveso, sharing good and ill fortune alike to the end, so much we do loveone another."

  To this Jack Dawson nods assent.

  "And your other fellow,--what of him?" asked Don Sanchez.

  I replied that Ned Herring was but a fair-weather friend, who had joinedfortunes with us to get out of London and escape the Plague, and howhaving robbed us, we were like never to see his face again.

  "And well for him if we do not," cries Dawson, rousing up; "for by theLord, if I clap eyes on him, though it be a score of years hence, heshan't escape the most horrid beating ever man outlived!"

  The Don nodded his satisfaction at this, and then Moll, awaking with thesudden outburst of her father's voice, gives first a gape, then ashiver, and looking about her with an air of wonder, smiles as her eyefell on the Don. Whereon, still as solemn as any judge, he pulls thebell, and the maid, coming to the room with a rushlight, he bids hertake the poor weary child to bed, and the best there is in the house,which I think did delight Dawson not less than his Moll to hear.

  Then Moll gives her father a kiss, and me another according to her wont,and drops a civil curtsey to Don Sanchez.

  "Give me thy hand, child," says he; and having it, he lifts it to hislips and kisses it as if she had been the finest lady in the land.

  She being gone, the Don calls for a second bowl of spiced wine, and we,mightily pleased at the prospect of another half-hour of comfort,stretch our legs out afresh before the fire. Then Don Sanchez, lightinganother cigarro, and setting his chair towards us, says as he takes hisknee up betwixt his long, thin fingers:

  "Now let us come to the heart of this business and understand oneanother clearly."