"
"Would you make a Cupid's messenger of me, Mr. Fellowes?"
"Fool! I tell you I am nothing. Save her from Rosmore, that is your
mission. My sword, my life are at her service, she knows that, and
probably would not use them, no matter what her peril might be; but you,
some day, might use me on her behalf, without her knowledge. Take this
paper; it is the name of my lodging in town. Keep it. Do you understand?
To-morrow I leave the Abbey."
"To join Monmouth?"
"To try and do what is right," Fellowes answered, "and find a worthy
death, if possible, to atone for an unworthy life."
"A new day will change your mood," said Martin.
"Think so if you will, only keep the paper, and save her from Rosmore."
As he turned away Martin caught his arm.
"There was once a man like you," he said, "a man who loved like you, who
was a scoundrel like you. Suddenly an angel touched him, and in great
pain he turned aside into a rugged, difficult path. At the end of it he
shrank back at the sound of a voice, shrank back until he knew that the
voice spoke words of praise and confidence and honour; and a hand, clean
as men's hands seldom are, grasped his in friendship.
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