He was a full-faced, big-nosed man, with small eyes, and a hard mouth, but was manifestly of some dignity from his dress and style.
"Sir Charles," says she, with a little pride in her voice, "you forget my plight. I should have perished but for this good gentleman."
"Humph," says this pig, puffing out his nostrils, and leaned over the fire to warm himself, but cast narrow glances at me.
But here comes in mine host with the wine, and Sir Charles (if that was his name) sits to the table, and takes a draught, which served to loosen his tongue.
"These roads," says he, "do no credit to your country, my man."
"Sir, they are such as we must endure," says the innkeeper.
"They are a disgrace to any country," says he; "they are the haunt of thieves and cut-throats," he says, and thumped on the table.
"Why, I've heard of none, your honour," says the fellow.
"I tell you, sir," he went on, "that no more than a mile or so from here I was stopped by a ruffian and robbed—yes, robbed, sir; and you boast of your secure roads. I am a justice and will see to it when I reach London."
"Lord, sir, you say not so?" said the innkeeper, and the lady called out in surprise,