“So we had,” said John.
“And you had cheese and a crusty loaf, and I had a bit o’ rice puddin’. And you had a tankard o’ best October ale, and I had a glass of sherry wine. Don’t you remember, John, you would make me take the wine though I wasn’t used to it and was afraid it might go to my head?”
“Yes, to be sure,” returned he. “Well, I’ll go and order all that.”
“And then come back to me—come straight back to me, John. Don’t stay gossiping downstairs. I feel quite nervous.”
“Do you think this was the room we had?” inquired John, pausing half-way to the door. “It don’t look the same somehow.”
“They’ve spoilt it with this new-fangled furniture,” returned she; “but it is the same. I remember this little window at the end looking towards the Market Place. Oh, John—see here.”
“What is that, my dear?”
“Why, look here at the corner of the pane. Here are our very name letters, S for Susan, and J for John, and the true-lovers’-knot on the top. I remember your scratching ’em quite well.”
“Why, so I did,” cried he. “I’d a glass-cutter in my big knife. Well, to be sure! There they are—and here we are!”
“Here we are,” echoed she. “Thanks be to God for all His mercies.”