"First and foremost, Mrs. White," he said, "what of old Dry?"
"Lord, sir! he is up-stairs, sick in bed!" replied Mrs. White.
"There let him lie, and be the bed on him, white-livered renegade!" said Captain Barecolt. "Then he did not discover that you had aided and abetted in the escape of our fair demoiselle?"
"Oh, not a whit!" replied the landlady. "He was in a mighty rage, to be sure, at first, and he had search made, and a great fuss; but it all ended in nothing, and I managed slily, pretending to help with all my might; so that he grew quite fond and familiar--the nasty old worm! Howsomever, he went out of the gates one day, leaving all his things here, and what happened I don't know; but he came back the next morning, as dull and as dirty-looking as a mixen, took to his bed directly, and has had a doctor at him ever since. I think something must have frightened him sadly, for he has been constantly whining and praying, and the doctor said he had had a turn; but he is much better to-day."
"So far so well, Mrs. White," said Barecolt; "but we must now look to other matters. Do you know aught about Mr. O'Donnell? for, if possible, I must see him tonight."
"I should think you would find him, sir," answered the hostess, "for he keeps himself a great deal at home just now. These are sad times in Hull, sir. There is great suspicion about; and every one whom they fancy to be what they call a malignant is pointed at and watched night and day; and even a poor widow woman like me they cannot help looking after, as if I were a regiment of soldiers; so that customers are afraid to come."
"Well, what of O'Donnell? what of O'Donnell?" demanded Captain Barecolt. "What has this to do with him, my good hostess?"
"Why, bless you, captain don't you know that people say he is a Papist?" exclaimed Mrs. White; "and so they are likely to be more sharp upon him than any one else: that is to say, not the governor, who is very fond of him, people say, because he supplies him with Dantzic and other strong waters better than he can get at home; but since Sir John has been ill of the gout, the colonel, his son, rules everything here in Hull; and a hard rule is his for every one but Roundheads. They may do as they like; some men may lie in bed and sleep, whilst others must get up early in the morning."
All this was news to Captain Barecolt, and news of a very unpleasant character, which made him ponder deeply for several minutes. Being of an active and inquiring turn of mind, he had not left his leisure time unemployed since he quitted Hull; and partly by no very definite hints, sewn together by surmises, and partly by open avowals and accidental conversations, he had been led to the conclusion that some very intimate communication had been opened between Sir John Hotham and the Earl of Beverley, which the illness of the former and the new state of things in the town might sadly derange. He longed eagerly to gain some intelligence of the proceedings of his noble fellow-traveller; and though he had a sufficient portion of the free companion in his character to act upon his own judgment, with very little deference for the commands he received, when it suited his own purpose, yet he had also sufficient of the old soldier in him to obey orders punctually when he could do no better. He therefore resolved to set out for O'Donnell's house at once, though he could not bring his mind to do so without draining another can; and while the worthy landlady went to draw it with her own fair hands, he sat pondering over what was to be done next, with no inconsiderable misgivings in regard to the termination of their expedition. At one time, indeed, he thought of cutting the whole matter very short, walking to the governor's house, demanding to see Colonel Hotham, running him through the body with his Toledo, and, with the assistance of the more loyal inhabitants, taking possession of the town in the king's name. It seemed to the eyes of imagination an exploit worthy of a Barecolt; but reflection suggested to him various little objections, which made him abandon his scheme, though he did it with reluctance. The vision of becoming governor of Hull--a post which the king, he thought, could never refuse to grant him, if he took the city with his own right hand--was just fading away from his mind, when the outer door of the inn was thrown vehemently open, and some one entered the passage with a quick and agitated step. Captain Barecolt looked up, and gazed forth from Mrs. White's glass-case, at the same time laying his hand upon his sword, for he was full of desperate and sanguinary thoughts. In a moment, however, his countenance lighted up, and exclaiming, "Ah, Diggory Falgate! honest Diggory Falgate!--something may perhaps be done now--his knowledge of the place and the people may aid us at this pinch, and my hand shall execute what his information suggests"--he opened the door, and went out to meet the poor painter, extending his hand to him in friendly guise.
Diggory Falgate started back as if he had seen an apparition; but the next moment he grasped Barecolt's hand, and exclaimed--