"Did I not tell you, my lord," said Martin Lightfoot, "to keep your curses
till you had seen the end of this adventure?"
Hereward was silent. His brain was still whirling from the adventures of
the day, and his heart was very deeply touched. His shrift of the morning,
hurried and formal as it had been, had softened him. His danger--for he
felt how he had been face to face with death--had softened him likewise;
and he repented somewhat of his vainglorious and bloodthirsty boasting
over a fallen foe, as he began to see that there was a purpose more noble
in life than ranging land and sea, a ruffian among ruffians, seeking for
glory amid blood and flame. The idea of chivalry, of succoring the weak
and the opprest, of keeping faith and honor not merely towards men who
could avenge themselves, but towards women who could not; the dim dawn of
purity, gentleness, and the conquest of his own fierce passions,--all
these had taken root in his heart during his adventure with the fair
Cornish girl. The seed was sown. Would it he cut down again by the bitter
blasts of the rough fighting world, or would it grow and bear the noble
fruit of "gentle very perfect knighthood"?
They reached the ship, clambered on hoard without ceremony, at the risk of
being taken and killed as robbers, and told their case.
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