But yet I know there is a land Where all that's lost on earth Revives to blossom and to bloom With undecaying birth. Thus steadfast hope and faith sincere Shall still afford me light, Till other suns shall dissipate The gloom or mortal night. CHAPTER XL. While such misadventures had been the lot of the Earl of Beverley, Captain Barecolt had ridden on unopposed and peaceably to the "Swan" Inn. He was in some apprehension, indeed, lest he should encounter worthy Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, at the house of good Mrs. White; but his mind was prepared to meet any emergency, and therefore he would not be turned from his course by the fear of "any Dry that ever yet was born." Alighting then at the door, he threw the rein of his horse over a hook provided for that especial purpose, and then, mounting the steps, looked in through the panes of glass in the door, which, to say the truth, afforded him no very clear insight into the passage beyond, as each separate square, being manufactured in a somewhat rude fashion, was furnished with a thick green knot or bump in the centre, which greatly impeded the view. All seemed clear, however, and marvellously silent; and, having carried his inspection as far as he judged necessary, the renowned captain opened the door and walked in. As soon as he did so, he perceived the good landlady seated in her little glass-case, alone, and busily engaged in hemming a wimple for her own proper person. She raised her eyes, as usual, at the sound of the opening door, and her face lighted up at the sight of the long limbs that presented themselves, in a manner which showed the illustrious commander that no danger was to be apprehended. Approaching, then, with a gallant air, Captain Barecolt unceremoniously entered the parlour, and saluted the fair hostess, who expressed herself right glad to see him, asking him a thousand questions about "the dear young lady and her adventures on the road." "All in good time, Mrs. White--all in good time," answered Captain Barecolt. "To-night, God willing, I will give you a true and particular account of all that has happened since last we met; but now I have other things to think of. In the first place, my mouth is as dry as a sick dog's nose, and I would fain have a chopin of something to moisten it." "That you shall, captain, in a minute," replied the landlady. "You look dusty and tired, as if you had ridden hard." "And so I am, sweet hostess," answered Barecolt; "and the dust is not more on my garments than between my teeth. My tongue is as parched as a bowl of split peas. Do you not hear it rattle? But do not go yourself for the wine, Mrs. White. Transfer that function to one of your nymphs, and listen to me." "La, captain! I have no nymphs," answered the landlady, half offended; but our hero waved his hand, saying--