"Put back," Sir Walter bade them. "I'll not betray my friends to
no purpose. Put back, and let us home again."
"Nay, now," said Stukeley gravely, himself watching the wherry.
"We are more than a match for them in oars, even if their purpose
be such as you suspect--for which suspicion, when all is said,
there is no ground. On then!" He addressed himself to the
watermen, whipping out a pistol, and growing truculent in mien
and voice. "To your oars! Row, you dogs, or I'll pistol you where
you sit."
The men bent their backs forthwith, and the boat swept on. But
Sir Walter was still full of apprehensions, still questioning the
wisdom of keeping to their down-stream course if they were being
followed.
"But are we followed?" cried the impatient Sir Lewis. "'Sdeath,
cousin, is not the river a highway for all the world to use, and
must every wherry that chances to go our way be in pursuit of us?
If you are to halt at every shadow, faith, you'll never
accomplish anything. I vow I am unfortunate in having a friend
whom I would save so full of doubts and fears."
Sir Walter gave him reason, and even King came to conclude that
he had suspected him unjustly, whilst the rowers, under
Stukeley's suasion, now threw themselves heartily into their
task, and onward sped the boat through the deepening night,
taking but little account of that other wherry that hung ever in
their wake.
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