“If you have need of refreshment,” said their guide, pointing over his shoulder, “yonder is a well known inn, and one much frequented in its time by mariners. Neighbour Joram and the ‘Foul Anchor’ have had a reputation in their day, as well as the greatest warrior in the land; and, though honest Joe is gathered-in for the general harvest, the house stands as firm as the day he first entered it. A goodly end he made, and profitable is it to the weak-minded sinner to keep such an example before his eyes!”
A low, smothered sound issued from the litter but, though the guide stopped to listen, it was succeeded by no other evidence of the character of its tenant.
“The sick man is in suffering,” he resumed; “but bodily pain, and all afflictions which we suffer in the flesh, must have their allotted time. I have lived to see seven bloody and cruel wars, of which this, which now rages, is, I humbly trust, to be the last. Of the wonders which I witnessed, and the bodily dangers which I compassed, in the sixth, eye hath never beheld, nor can tongue utter, their equal!”
“Time hath dealt hardly by you, friend,” meekly interrupted the female. “This gold may add a few more comfortable days to those that are already past.”
The cripple, for their conductor was lame as well as aged, received the offering with gratitude, apparently too much occupied in estimating its amount, to give any more of his immediate attention to the discourse. In the deep silence that succeeded, the party reached the door of the villa they sought.
It was now night; the short twilight of the season having disappeared, while the bearers of the litter had been ascending the hill. A loud rap was given on the door by the guide; and then he was told that his services were no longer needed.
“I have seen much and hard service,” he replied, “and well do I know that the prudent manner does not dismiss the pilot, until the ship is safely moored. Perhaps old Madam de Lacey is abroad, or the Captain himself may not”——
“Enough; here is one who will answer all our questions.”
The portal was now, in truth, opened; and a man appeared on its threshold, holding a light. The appearance of the porter was not, however, of the most encouraging aspect. A certain air, which can neither be assumed nor gotten rid of, proclaimed him a son of the ocean, while a wooden limb, which served to prop a portion of his still square and athletic body, sufficiently proved he was one who had not attained the experience of his hardy calling without some bodily risk. His countenance, as he held the light above his head, in order to scan the persons of the groupe without, was dogmatic, scowling, and a little fierce. He was not long, however, in recognizing the cripple, of whom he unceremoniously demanded the object of what he was pleased to term “such a night squall.”
“Here is a wounded mariner,” returned the female with tones so tremulous that they instantly softened the heart of the nautical Cerberus, “who is come to claim hospitality of a brother in the service; and shelter for the night. We would speak with Captain Henry de Lacey.”