Not much could be seen of the others, who were seated in the background.
But they seemed to be pot companions of the blacksmith, with whom they were in earnest conversation.
Such was the party among whom the young officer found himself seated. To all their questions he was mute, or gave a short, evasive answer.
A few moments had elapsed when he received from the landlord a tumbler of hot rum and water, which he had ordered on entering.
To this he joined a few slices of old English beef, with a round or two of the landlady’s home-made bread.
Feeling himself more comfortable, both as to his inward and outward man, he was disposed to enter into conversation, which he had hitherto avoided.
“May I ask you,” said the landlady, observing him listening to the quaint jokes of the sexton, who was the oracle of the parish, “may I ask you—mean no offence, your honour—what brought you out here in this hurricane?”
“Why, my good woman,” replied the young officer, “I will not be deceitful enough to say that I came out on purpose to see you. I went, you must know, to see some friends, but, returning to my uncle’s home, the darkness of the night made me lose my way, and here I am, but where I know not.”
“Among friends, I hope,” cried the sexton, offering him at the same time a drink from the tankard.
He was in the act of putting it to his lips, when the young officer’s servant entered by the back-door with his horse-cloth strapped over his head.