“You?” said the publican, aghast. “Rash youth, beware!”
“Nay; you need have no fears for me. It is my resolve to beard the lion in his very den this very night. Think you they are on the heath?”
“Without doubt, young master, they are; but take an old man’s advice, do not go near them. When you catch but a glimpse of their horrid forms, flee for your lives.”
“Never mind, friend, never mind this Skeleton Crew. Bring us a bottle or two of your best wine,” said Ned. “If I do not unearth the hobgoblin devils to-night, my name is not Ned Warbeck.”
“Warbeck?” said the old man, in surprise, “Warbeck?”
“Yes, Warbeck. What makes you look so surprised?”
“They were speaking of you,” said the old man, turning pale.
“Well, what of that?”
“They drank to your death.”
“To my death?” said Ned. “What else, old man?”