The wind was blowing furiously, doors and windows creaked, and all the demons of unrest were moaning that night in the hubbub of sounds. Save for a flickering 200 candle in the hall, the tavern was dark, and landlord and maids had long since retired to rest. Amid the noise of the rain and the sobbing of the wind, trunks were lowered from the window; the chariot and property wagon were drawn from the stable yard and the horses led from their stalls. In a trice they were ready and the ladies, wrapped in their cloaks, were in the coach. But the clatter of hoofs, the neighing of a horse, or some other untoward circumstance, aroused the landlord; a window in the second story shot up and out popped a head in a night-cap.
“Here!––What are you about?” cried the man.
“Leaving!” said the manager, laconically.
The landlord threw up his arms like Shylock at the loss of his money-bags.
“The reckoning!” he exclaimed. “What about the reckoning?”
“Your pound of flesh, sir!” replied Barnes.
“My score! My score!” shouted the other. “You would not leave without settling it!”
“Go to bed, sir,” was the answer, “and let honest people depart without hindrance. You will be paid out of our first profits.”
But the man was not so easily appeased. “Robbers! Constable!” he screamed.
Conceiving it was better to be gone without further parley, having assured him of their honorable intentions, Barnes was about to lash the horses, when Kate suddenly exclaimed: