Richard answered civilly, and pulling his hat over his eyes leaned back as one disposed to sleep; but the new-comer seemed to have no fancy for solitary potations. "Take a pull at my ale, friend," he hallooed, pushing the steaming mixture under Dick's nose. "It's rare stingo, 'schrecklich gut' as the Dutchmen say, though it be a slut that brewed it. Folks in this country want something to warm their gizzards!" The hostess who brought Dick's bowl of onion broth at this moment destroyed his chance of feigning sleep, and he had to resign himself to endure his companion's conversation which flowed on, garnished with oaths and cant phrases in three or four different languages, without any interruption, till by an unguarded movement Richard exposed his face to the light of the fire, and the stranger stared a moment, and then sprang up exclaiming, "Body o' me if it be not Measter Dick himself!" Richard scanned the other's features with surprise and annoyance. "You have the advantage of me, sir," he answered, stiffly. "Whoy, Measter Dick, you ain't forgot me! But 'tis little wonder; time flies, time flies, and I bean't so slim as I was once. But you'll mind my name, Hodge Astbury from Penkull, that rode at the tail of your nag all the way from Hurst Castle to London, and many a day after." "Can it be Astbury!" cried Richard, with a warmer feeling of pleasure than he could have imagined possible at finding a link with his old past in the drunken ruffian who claimed his acquaintance. "Ay!" cried the other, seizing his hand. "Hodge Astbury I am, and right pleased to set eyes on you again, sir. But alack, alack, times is changed, and I hear tell they've hanged the Major?" Dick nodded. "Ay, dear, dear," meditated Astbury, in a maudlin tone of regret. "The Major, he was a fine soldier, and no mistake. I'd rather than a cup of strong waters ride behind him when fighting was toward, and see the pleasure he took in it! Seemeth, whatever the Major did, us was bound to do, whether 'twas fighting or praying; 'twas somehow catching, like as 'twas the plague. You may believe me, sir, I got afeared of keeping along o' him; he'd have turned me into a saint before I could wink. When he looked at you--why General Cromwell himself was put to it to say him nay! Aye, dear, dear, 'tis a pity." Whether intentionally or not, the man had slipped back into his Staffordshire accent and dropped the strongest of his oaths, and Dick could not prevent a feeling of bitter amusement at seeing that this drunken ne'er-do-well, whom his uncle had persuaded to enlist in the hopes of drilling him into a decent life, had yielded to the influence of General Harrison's character just as he himself had done. But Astbury had broken loose from the charm; he himself had remained obedient till death dissolved the spell. Which of them had been the wiser--which was the better off? The fellow maundered on, taking a drink at his replenished tankard now and then.