“Quick—quick! Down here behind the counter for your life!”
There was scarce time to drop on my knees before a couple of troopers loung’d in, demanding mull’d beer. The girl bustled about to serve them, while the pair lean’d their elbows on the counter, and in this easy attitude began to chat.
“A shrewd night!”
“Aye, a very freezing frost! Lucky that soldiering is not all sentry work, or I for one ‘ud ensue my natural trade o’ plumbing. But let’s be cheerful: for the voice o’ the turtle is heard i’ the land.”
“Hey?”
The man took a pull at his hot beer before explaining.
“The turtle signifieth the Earl o’ Stamford, that is to-night visiting Colonel Essex in secret: an’ this is the import—war, bloody war. Mark me.”
“Stirring, striving times!”
“You may say so! ’A hath fifteen thousand men, the Earl, no farther off than Taunton—why, my dear, how pale you look, to be sure!”
“’Tis my head that aches,” answer’d the girl.