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On this mere chance the Treaty was prolonged to Nov. 18, and again to Nov. 25; and, as his Majesty had begged Parliament that he might have the assistance of such new advice on the Church question as could be given by Usher, ex- Bishops Brownrigg, Prideaux, and Warner, and Drs. Ferne and Morley, leave had been granted to these divines to proceed to Newport.
They looked out to the glistening line where the water met the east. "Homeward to-morrow!" said Arden, and Ferne asked, "What are thy ships, John?" and Nevil answered, "The one is the Mere Honour, the other I have very lately renamed the Cygnet. Wilt be her captain, Mortimer, from here to Plymouth Port?"
He struck the lute again, drawing from it a lingering and mournful note. "Now out upon the man who brought melancholy into fashion!" ejaculated Arden. "In danger the blithest soul alive, when all is well you do ask yourself too many questions! I'll go companion with Robert Baldry, who keeps no fashions save of Mars's devising." "Why, I am not sad," said Ferne, rousing himself.
The guard and those who came and went eyed him curiously; sometimes whispered words reached his ears. Once, when he had waited a long time, a soldier brought him a jack of ale. He drank of it gratefully and thanked the donor. The soldier fidgeted, lowered his voice. "I fought under you, Sir Mortimer Ferne, at Fayal in the Azores.
A silence followed, then said Arden: "And if I want it not, Mortimer? And if, old memories stirring, I have ridden from London to Ferne House that I might see how thou wert faring?" "Thou seest," said Ferne. "I see how bitterly thou art changed." "Ay, I am changed," answered Sir Mortimer. "Your thought was kindly, and I thank you for it.
"There are not many now will die.... May I speak to you where there are fewer eyes?" A few moments later, in Sir John's room, he took from his doublet a slip of paper. "This was brought to me some hours ago. Is it an order?" "Ay," said Nevil, without touching the out-held paper. "An order." Ferne walked to the window and stood there, looking out upon the passers-by in the street below.
The dead and I hold Ferne House of nights. To-morrow come again and say good-by." "I will sail with you to the Indies, Mortimer," said the visitor. There was silence in the room; then, "No, no," answered Ferne, in a strange voice. "No, no." Arden persisted, speaking rapidly, carrying it off with sufficient lightness. "He was just home from Ireland and stood in need of the sun.
"Come over to us, John Nevil," cried the sea-king. "No, no, let us have your companions also, and that sick youth we have heard of" "You do not understand," muttered Ferne, hastily, to Nevil. "This place likes me not. Go you and Arden " Sir John shook his head.
He staggered as he spoke and put his hand to his head. "Mortimer, Mortimer. Mortimer!" cried the Admiral. "Oh, my God, let this dream pass!" "Why, the matter needs not God," said Ferne, and laughed. "I am a traitor, am I not? Then do to me what was done to Thomas Doughty. Only hasten, for dead men wait to clutch me, and your looks do sear my very brain." Again he reeled.
Only the Cygnet's boat, rocking beneath the stern of the Mere Honour, waited for its Captain, who tarried with the Admiral. In the state-cabin the two men sat for some moments in silence, the Admiral covering with his hand his bearded lips, Ferne with head thrown back against the wall and half-closed eyes.
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