The good father took out his tablets, and made a note thereof.
“Now, dear Cuthbert, our Compline office, and then to rest. We must be waking early.”
The sun rose brightly upon the old inn; it was a fresh, invigorating morning, with a keen frosty air, just such as would invite one to ride, walk, or run.
Cuthbert came out, his valise strapped on by a belt, and was ready to mount; his reputed father had already gone, for he had the longer journey, and Cuthbert was about to depart in turn.
He slipped a rose-noble into the hand of the ostler, whose face brightened as he received this unexpected donation, which was hardly a consistent or prudent one on Cuthbert’s part, at least in his assumed character.
“Thee beest a gentleman, and dang’d if I don’t tell thee all: I knows thee, I was in Exeter t’other day, when two folks were to have been strapped and cut up.”
“You will not betray me, then?”
“Not I; ’twor a mortal shame to think of cutting such a likely lad, like a pig to be stowed away in flitches; but I have a word more to say, thee hast an enemy here, or at least he was here.”
“Indeed, who was he?”