The footsteps stopped, but there was no
answer. 'Who goes there?' I repeated. 'Answer, or I fire.'
'_Prosper the Bonaventure_,' came back out of the darkness, and I knew
that I was safe. 'The devil take thee for a hot-blooded young bantam to
shoot thy best friend with powder and ball, that he was fool enough to
give thee'; and by this time I had guessed 'twas Master Ratsey, and
recognized his voice. 'I would have let thee hear soon enough that 'twas
I, if I had known I was so near thy lair; but 'tis more than a man's life
is worth to creep down moleholes in the dark, and on a night like this.
And why I could not get out the gibberish about the _Bonaventure_ sooner,
was because I matched my shin to break a stone, and lost the wager and my
breath together. And when my wind returned 'tis very like that I was
trapped into an oath, which is sad enough for me, who am sexton, and so
to say in small orders of the Church of England as by law established.'
By the time I had put down the gun and coaxed the candle again to light,
Ratsey stepped into the cave. He wore a sou'wester, and was dripping with
wet, but seemed glad to see me and shook me by the hand. He was welcome
enough to me also, for he banished the dreadful loneliness, and his
coming was a bit out of my old pleasant life that lay so far away, and
seemed to bring me once more within reach of some that were dearest.
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