“Hullo!” he cried, sitting up and gripping Waghorn by the arm. “What are you about, fellow?”
Waghorn in vain tried to escape; he was held as in a vice. Fortunately for him his face was in shadow, and he was completely disguised by his cloak and hood. With ready tact he began to whimper and moan like one half-witted.
“’Tis naught but daft Lubin, sir; naught but daft Lubin,” he pleaded.
“Daft Lubin, indeed!” said Gabriel, impatiently. “I should think you were daft to wake up a tired man in the dead of night. Ho! sentry! call the guard and let this crazy fellow be taken up, or he’ll be disturbing the men again.”
Waghorn whimpering, struggling and protesting all the way up the street that he was “naught but daft Lubin,” was remorselessly hurried away by the guard.
Yawning and shivering with the discomfort of one roused in his first sleep, Gabriel stretched his stiff limbs.
“What was the row?” muttered Captain Bayly, drowsily.
“Naught but an old half-witted beggar,” said Gabriel. Then suddenly noticing that his coat was unbuttoned, he felt in consternation for the packet, and gave an ejaculation of relief on finding the despatches safe.
“The night grows cold,” said the other, wrapping his cloak more closely about him.
“’Tis naught to some of the nights we had in Waller’s time,” said Gabriel. “He took no heed of frost or damp, though now and again he was sorry for the horses.”