"So shall I pity thee alway, Martin Conisby!" she repeated, and sighed, and so was gone.
Then I turned, slow of foot, and went my solitary way.
CHAPTER X
HOW I SWORE TO THE BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD
I remember the moon was very bright as, reaching the end of a grassy lane (or rather cart-track) I saw before me a small, snug-seeming tavern with a board over the door, whereon were the words:
YE PECK OF MALT
BY
JOEL BYM.
And looking the place over, from trim, white steps before the door to trim thatched roof, I marvelled at its air of prosperity; for here it stood, so far removed from road and bye-road, so apparently away from all habitation, and so lost and hid by trees (it standing within a little copse) that it was great wonder any customer should ever find his way hither.
The place was very quiet, not a light showed anywhere and the door was fast shut, which was nothing strange, for the hour was late. Stepping up to the door I knocked loudly thereon with my cudgel, at first without effect, but having repeated the summons, a voice from within hailed me gruffly:
"Who knocks?"