"I'll not believe you till you afford me proof," Trenchard replied. "You shall come and wash your resentment down in the best bottle of Canary the White Cow can furnish us."
"Not now, I thank you," answered Richard.
"You are thinking of the last occasion on which I drank with you," said Trenchard reproachfully.
"Not so. But... but I am not thirsty."
"Not thirsty?" echoed Trenchard. "And is that a reason? Why, lad, it is the beast that drinks only when he thirsts. And in that lies one of the main differences between beast and man. Come on"--and his arm effected a gentle pressure upon Richard's, to move him thence. But at that moment, down the street with a great rumble of wheels, cracking of whips and clatter of hoofs, came a coach, bearing to Mr. Newlington's King Monmouth escorted by his forty life-guards. Cheering broke from the crowd as the carriage drew up, and the Duke-King as he alighted turned his handsome face, on which shone the ruddy glow of torches, to acknowledge these loyal acclamations. He passed up the steps, at the top of which Mr. Newlington--fat and pale and monstrously overdressed--stood bowing to welcome his royal visitor. Host and guest vanished, followed by some six officers of Monmouth's, among whom were Grey and Wade. The sight-seers flattened themselves against the walls as the great lumbering coach put about and went off again the way it had come, the life-guards following after.
Trenchard fancied that he caught a sigh of relief from Richard, but the street was noisy at the time and he may well have been mistaken.
"Come," said he, renewing his invitation, "we shall both be the better for a little milk of the White Cow."
Richard wavered almost by instinct. The White Cow, he knew, was famous for its sack; on the other hand, he was pledged to Sir Rowland to stand guard in the narrow lane at the back where ran the wall of Mr. Newlington's garden. Under the gentle suasion of Trenchard's arm, he moved a few steps up the street; then halted, his duty battling with his inclination.
"No, no," he muttered. "If you will excuse me..."
"Not I," said Trenchard, drawing from his hesitation a shrewd inference as to Richard's business.
"To drink alone is an abomination I'll not be guilty of."
"But..." began the irresolute Richard.
"Shalt urge me no excuses, or we'll quarrel. Come," and he moved on, dragging Richard with him.
A few steps Richard took unwillingly under the other's soft compulsion; then, having given the matter thought--he was always one to take the line of least resistance--he assured himself that his sentryship was entirely superfluous; the matter of Blake's affair was an entire secret, shared only by those who had a hand in it. Blake was quite safe from all surprises; Trenchard was insistent and it was difficult to deny him; and the sack at the White Cow was no doubt the best in Somerset. He gave himself up to the inevitable and fell into step alongside his companion who babbled aimlessly of trivial matters. Trenchard felt the change from unwilling to willing companionship, and approved it.