Gabriel, somewhat damped by his friend’s words, produced the little 12mo copy of the earliest edition of Owen Felltham’s “Resolves,” which Falkland had given him, then again withdrew to his bench to talk with Humphrey Neal.
In the afternoon, a little before sunset, the door was suddenly yet stealthily opened. Gabriel looked up hopefully, for sure enough Sandy appeared, but the next moment the unwelcome sight of Aaron close at his heels robbed him of all hope. The fellow had evidently been drinking, and was in his most dangerous humour.
“Now then, you rogues, hand over the bird,” he said, glancing round the ward and eyeing the lawyer with special suspicion, for he had not failed to note that his hand had hastily sought his pocket. Gabriel stood up.
“The bird is not here it has flown away these two hours or more.”
“You lie, you dog. I saw that traitor from Marlborough conceal it as I entered.”
“The bird has gone, we all saw it go,” maintained the other prisoners unanimously.
Aaron was not, however, to be convinced. He pounced on the lawyer, dragged the coat from his back, and plunging his dirty hands into the pockets drew forth--not, indeed, the bird--but Falkland’s little book.
“You dare to conceal books against the Provost-Marshal’s rule!” he exclaimed. “You shall be soundly beaten for this, you numskull.”
But Gabriel, unable to bear the thought of such a punishment for the haggard and wan invalid who had but lately recovered from the fever, strode forward.
“The book is mine,” he said, deliberately taking it from the gaoler and boldly thrusting it into his pocket. This, as he had foreseen, wholly diverted the furious Aaron from the lawyer.
“’Tis yours, is it?” he cried, tearing off Gabriel’s doublet, and with one vigorous pull splitting in half his ragged shirt. “You’ve tried the hangman’s whip, you Roundhead rogue, and we will see now if a sound drubbing from my rod will tame you. Ho! Sandy! give me your broad back for a whipping post, and if you don’t hold this vile traitor’s wrists fast, I’ll flog you to a jelly yourself.”
Sandy slouched forward whimpering and reluctant, yet not daring to disobey his tyrant. A sob rose in his throat as he felt the prisoner leaning on his shoulders, and gripped the thin wrists fast about his neck as Aaron had bidden him.