It was instantly opened; and the galleyman, with his saturated garments, and his long black hair hanging dripping over his shoulders, entered the cottage.
"Why, what mishap has befallen you?" inquired Holgrave, in surprise.
"Ask no questions," answered the dusty-foot, "but give me a cup of malmsey."
"Malmsey! and in a villein's cottage," replied Holgrave, bitterly. "No, no; but here is a small flask of sack which a neighbour brought to my wife: she will little grudge it to a man in your plight."
While Holgrave was speaking, he emptied the flask into a horn, and, handing it to the galleyman, the latter eagerly clutched it, and, with astonishing rapidity, swallowed the contents.
"Is that all you have?" inquired the dusty-foot.
"Yes," replied Holgrave; "and enough too, I think, for any reasonable man at one time."
"Nonsense!" returned the stranger, "I would drink ten times as much and be nothing the worse. But hark you, Stephen Holgrave—I have come to you for shelter, and I expect you will give it."
"While I have a roof the way-faring man shall never sleep——"
"I do not talk of sleep," interrupted the stranger; "I would not trouble any man for the sake of a night's rest: but to be plain with you, my life is sought for—the hue and cry is even now after me;—so, if you mean to keep your word, give me some dry clothing, and hide me—anywhere."