But this feeling did not long possess me. For the first time since I had seen the maid, the promise I had made to Peter Trevisa became really binding; moreover, I hated the thought of being beaten. If I gave up at this point, I should never cease to reproach myself with being outwitted by a girl, and it was not my nature to accept defeat easily. Besides, I was curious to see what the end of the business would be. In spite of myself I was interested in the maid. I admired her coolness and her far-sightedness. Even though I was angry with her for calling me a traitor, her very feeling of distrust of me made me sure she was no ordinary schoolgirl. Nay, I carried my conclusions further. The intuition that warned her against deceit, the power by which she made me stammer like a boy, and hang my head like a thief, convinced me that here was a pure-hearted maid, and one who might be trusted.
A little later I came to St. Denis, but, as Chestnut showed no inclination to halt, I rode straight on. I did not guide him in the least, and although I felt myself foolish in allowing him to take the St. Stephen's road, I laid no weight on the bridle rein.
While passing through a little hamlet called Trethosa, the morning began to dawn, and by the time I had reached St. Stephen's it was broad daylight. I found a little inn in the village close by the churchyard gates, called the King's Arms. Here, in spite of the fact that Chestnut seemed as if he would go on, I stopped. The truth was, I felt hungry and faint, and I knew that my horse would be all the better for a gallon or two of oats and a good grooming. The landlord's name I discovered to be Bill Best, and I found him very communicative, which is not a common trait among Cornishmen. He told me his history with great freedom, also that of his wife. He related to me the circumstances of his courtship, and mentioned the amount of his wife's dowry.
"'Tis a grand thing to have a good wife," I remarked.
"'Tes, and ted'n," was his reply.
I asked him to explain.
"Well I be a man that do like my slaip, I be. When I caan't slaip ov a night, I be oal dazey droo the day. Why now I be as dazey as can be. Ordnarly I be a very cute man, avin a oncommon amount of sense. Ax our passon. Why, 'ee'll tell 'ee that as a boy I cud leck off catechism like bread'n trycle. But since I've bin married I caan't slaip."
"Why, does your wife keep you awake?"
"No, ted'n that. Tes the cheldern. But my Betsey cud slaip through a earthquake, and zo tes, that all droo the night there's a passel of cheldern squallin, keepin' me wake. Laast night, now, I 'ardly slaiped for the night."
"Indeed," I replied, "and was it your children last night?"