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Updated: May 16, 2025
Me they left to rule Porto Santo. 'And if we never come back, said Gonsalvez, 'you will tell the Prince that something lies yonder which we would have found, but our men murdered us on the way " "My dear brother Bartholomew," Gonsalvez broke in, "you are wearying Master d'Arfet, who has no wish to hear about me."
On all manner of trifles he would invite Master d'Arfet's opinion: but to show any curiosity or to allow his guests to satisfy any, did not belong to his part of host a part he played with a thoroughness which diverted me while it drove the Englishman well-nigh mad. At once Zarco became grave. "My dear Bartholomew," said he, "you did right, of course, to bring Master d'Arfet to me.
When this was reported at first Master d'Arfet would have none of it, but rapped his staff on the desk and raised a score of objections in his scolding voice. Since I could understand none of them, I added very firmly that it was my rule; that he could be carried up to my house on a litter without an ache of his bones; and, in short, that I must either have his promise or leave the ship.
So much as I believe will concern you you have heard: and the grave you shall look upon to-morrow." Master d'Arfet had left off cracking his joints, and for a while after the end of the story sat drumming with his finger-tips on the table. At length he looked up, and says he
"Well, it is to hear that tale that I have travelled across the world to visit you." "Ah, but forgive me, Sir!" I poured out another glassful of wine, drew up my chair, rested both elbows on the table, and looked at him over my folded hands. "You must first satisfy me what reason you have for asking." "My name is Thomas d'Arfet," he said.
The pride of the illustrious family of d'Arfet was insensible to the happiness of their daughter, and they preferred the indulgence of their own ambition to the voice of love. The feudal tyranny of the age was friendly to their cruelty, and a royal warrant seemed to justify the vanity of her parent.
In the glorious reign of Edward III. Robert a Machin, of Macham, a gentleman of the second degree of nobility, whose genius was only equalled by his gallantry and courage, beheld and loved the beautiful Anna d'Arfet . Their attachment was mutual, but the pleasing indulgence of ardent hope gratified and betrayed the secret of their passion.
"Martin!" A little man of my own country, very yellow and foxy, came running out, and the pair talked together for a moment before advancing towards me. "Your Excellency," the interpreter began, "this is a gentleman of England who desires that you will dine with him to-day. His name is Master Thomas d'Arfet, and he has some questions to put to you, of your country, in private." "D'Arfet?"
Toward midnight arrived a boat with our young squire and one companion, a lady of extreme beauty, who had no sooner climbed the ship's side than the master cut the anchor-cable and stood out for sea. "The names of these pretty runaways were Robert Machin and Anne d'Arfet, wife of a sour merchant of Bristol; and all their care was to flee together and lose all the world for love.
Master d'Arfet waited while Martin translated; then he put out a hand for his staff, found it, turned on his heel and tottered from the room, the interpreter following with a face which had altered nothing during our whole discourse. Master d'Arfet sailed at daybreak, having declined Gonsalvez' offer to show him the grave.
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