“Ah! master,” he said, “you are very hard upon a poor wight who knows not where to turn for a meal in these troublous times. I pray you, have a little pity for one who hath been accustomed to fill his belly, and to sleep in comfort and security.”
“In a bridewell, I do not doubt,” said the grim Gamaliel.
“Nay, master, there you wrong me,” said the vagrant. “Few have followed a more reputable course than I.”
The landlord looked at him piercingly. After all, his mind might be a little better than his appearance. His speech was hardly so rustic as one would expect.
“What hath been your station in life?” asked Gamaliel. “And what hath brought you to this pass?”
“It is but a few weeks since I was serving-man to my Lord Wilmot,” said the other, hesitatingly.
“Why did you quit his service?” the landlord demanded.
“’Twas a stroke of evil fortune, master. My lord was too good a friend to poor King Charles Stuart. He is now fleeing o’er hill and dale for his life, with devil a serving-man to attend him.”
The landlord listened greedily. In a flash a very bright idea illuminated his mind.
“Have you ever seen this Charles Stuart?” he demanded, almost breathlessly.