As the baker entered, the tall man said to the inn-keeper:—
"Is there a Mrs. Monk now living in this village?"
"Truly there is," said the inn-keeper, "and I will show you her house.
But you'll have your dinner first?"
"Aye, aye," said the stranger, "for I'll not go to her hungry."
The baker asked for nothing hot, but turned him and went out into the cold, bleak world. As he closed the door behind him he heard the stranger say:—
"On the brig Mistletoe."
It was not needed that the baker should hear these words; already he knew everything. His soul had told him everything in the moment he saw the sun-browned man with the rings in his ears!
On went the baker, his head bowed on his breast, the sun shining like tawdry brass, the snow glistening like a slimy, evil thing. He knew not where he was going; he knew not what he intended to do, but on he went.
Presently a door opened, and he was called.
"I saw you coming," said the Widow Monk, "and I did not wish to keep you waiting in the cold," and she held open the door for him.