The officer, preceding us into the inn, called loudly for the landlord, who bowed the three of us into his best apartment and desired to know our pleasure. As for me and Alison I think we had no stomach for either eating or drinking, but I desired the man to set his best before us, and we made some show of breaking our fast. Meanwhile the officer had introduced himself to us, and seemed highly desirous to make as good an appearance as possible, protesting that as a true servant of His Majesty it was his duty to protect the King’s loyal subjects—all of which, I take it, was in the way of so much tribute to my wife’s beauty, and a sure proof that a woman’s prettiness can achieve more than all the common sense and reason in the world put together.
“I’ faith!” says he. “I am glad to meet you, sir, and am unreservedly obliged to you and your lady for your kindness in giving me your company. ’Tis poor work for a man of quality to ride at the head of his troop with none fitting to hold converse with him. I promise myself,” he says, with yet another bow, “a most profitable ride ’twixt now and our parting.”
“Why, sir,” says I, “’tis very good of you to say so, though I fear we shall prove but poor company.” And indeed I felt but little disposed to hold converse with him or any other, being sore anxious as to our future movements. But Alison, full of her woman’s wit—albeit as anxious as I—came to my aid and talked to him, making herself mighty agreeable—much to his pleasure—until the hour was past and the troop departed, the officer with Alison and myself bringing up the rear.
As we rode along the river side into Hook village the dawn came, grey and misty. There was a bank of white fog over the Ouse, which was there a wide and swift river, mightily swollen at that moment by the recent rains. Down at the ferry the air was cold and thin, and I saw Alison shiver as we sat our horses by the water’s edge. I looked round me at the dull, flat landscape, and the wintry river at our feet, and felt a sense of coming trouble. “I have led thee into perilous doings, sweetheart,” says I, laying my hand on hers. But she looked at me with the rarest smile, and I knew then that because of her love for me she was willing to face whatever might come.
Our friend the officer, while we waited at the ferry for the troop that was to join him, amused himself by drawing up his men in order of battle and putting them through various movements. I think he designed these things in order to draw our attention to his own person and importance, for he was in sooth a perfect coxcomb, and seemed to delight in showing off his airs and graces. So concerned were we with our own thoughts, however, that we perceived little of what went on immediately before us. Alison and I sat apart, conversing now and then. Merciful Wiggleskirk walked his horse up and down the road in a fashion that clearly proved his uneasiness. And presently, after an excursion to the end of the turn he came back to my side, and drawing rein as if naught had happened, leaned over and spoke to me in a low voice.
“Master,” says he, “we are pursued.”
“Pursued?” says I. “What makes you think that?”
“I have just been to the top of the road,” says he, “and caught sight of a troop of horse coming along under the woods a mile off. In another minute or so you’ll hear the sound of their horses’ feet,” he says, nodding his head towards the highway.
“Why, man,” says I, “’tis the troop of horse that this officer is now waiting for that you have seen. He expects them to join him here every moment.”
“No,” says he, “for these are Roundheads—I can tell the difference ’twixt Roundheads and Cavaliers at three miles. We are pursued, master, as I feared we should be, and if Anthony Dacre has a hand in it we shall have to fight. And the question is,” he says, with a glance at Alison, “what is to be done with madam?”