"Could you not plead that you had but pretended to go with me to
seize on my private papers?" suggested the ingenious mind of
Ralegh.
"I could. But shall I be believed? Shall I?" His loom was
deepening to despair.
Ralegh was stricken almost with remorse on his cousin's account.
His generous heart was now more concerned with the harm to his
friends than with his own doom. He desired to make amends to
Stukeley, but had no means save such as lay in the power of that
currency he used. Having naught else to give, he must give that.
He plunged his hand into an inner pocket, and brought forth a
handful of jewels, which he thrust upon his kinsman.
"Courage," he urged him. "Up now, and we may yet win out and
home, so that all will be well with you at least, and you shall
not suffer for your friendship to me."
Stukeley embraced him then, protesting his love and desire to
serve him.
They came to land at last, just below Greenwich bridge, and
almost at the same moment the other wherry grounded immediately
above them. Men sprang from her, with the obvious intent of
cutting off their retreat.
"Too late!" said Ralegh, and sighed, entirely without passion
now that the dice had fallen and showed that the game was lost.
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