Sir Robin, however, with that discretion and prudence, not to say cowardice, which distinguished him, had purposely chosen the Queen and Artichoke, for, upon second thought, he had determined to sleep in comfort.
Sir Robin loved his feathers and quilts of a night far better than the jolt of ruts and ditches, and dreaded highwaymen more than even the pangs of delayed love-making.
By his choice he had hoped to escape the least chance of an encounter with Sir Percy, whom he believed to be in hot pursuit of him, and at this juncture his wise little pate quickly resolved that it were better for him to alight, gain his chamber, and harbor there in safety until such time as that Sir Percy should have unsuspectingly proceeded on his quest.
“If you can ensure me a perfect privacy; to go unseen to my rooms, a fair service, and dry linen, with quiet as to cocks and neighbors, I will remain here for the present,” says Sir Robin, almost taking in Lady Peggy by the squint of his uncontrollable left eye.
In a trice, Sir Robin is attended to his bower, and ere long the best in the larder is laid before him. Sir Percy partakes of the homely fare of the ordinary; and Her Ladyship sits, unheeding the tardy summons of the dame, supperless, hungry, fagged, in her tiny room where the warmth from the kitchen chimney reaches her, and where the goodly smells from Sir Robin’s fowls, sausages, eggs, and fruit-pie assail her senses.
Mr. Grigson, doctoring the roan, endeavored with much creditable tact to get wind of the name or title of the master of the coach, but Sir Robin’s men had had their lesson, and not a hint was to be got out of either of them by Mr. Grigson, or by the curious host of the Queen and Artichoke himself.
By eleven every candle was out in the house. All the guests, save two, slept the sleep of the presumably just.
