CHAPTER XVII.
"My heart hath melted at a lady's tears."—King John.
A shrill whistle roused Marryott from his sleep. He sprang to his feet. The fire was quite low now; some hours must have passed. The whistle was repeated; it came from outside the house, beneath the window. Marryott threw open the casement, letting in a dash of wind and snow, and leaned out. Below him, in the snowy darkness, was Anthony, on horseback.
"How now, Anthony?"
"A score of men have rid into Harmby, from the south. I saw them from this side of the town. I had gone so far back to keep warmth in my horse. 'Tis bitter cold. They stopped at the inn there, these men; whether to pass the night, or to get fresh horses, I wot not."
"Are they Barnet's men, think you?"
"There is no knowing. The darkness and snow make all men look alike at a distance. They might be the pursuivant's men, or they might be Captain Bottle's friends."
By "Captain Bottle's friends" the Puritan meant Rumney and his robbers.
"Harmby is but four miles away," said Marryott. "An they came on to-night, they would stop here to inquire of our passing. Or if they asked further on, and found we had not passed, they would soon hound us out. 'Tis well you brought the news forthwith. Anthony!"
"Why, as for that, 'twas eleven by Harmby clock when I turned my back on't. So it must be near starting-time now."