"What make ye here? Hey! sots, what make ye here?" it
added, with a rattle of drunken laughter; and then, once more
breaking into song:
"If ye should drink the clary wine,
Fat Friar John, ye friend o' mine -
If I should eat, and ye should drink,
Who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?"
Lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for
a corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations. Dick
inwardly raged. The spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured
as he found he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a
movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was
gone from Richard's eyes.
What was to be done? If he lost touch of Lawless for the night, he
was left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth Joanna's rescue.
If, on the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the
spy might still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal
consequences ensue.
It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick decided.
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