The Carlisle hostel was full of guests--a singular circumstance--for the quaint and humble suburban inn was out of the ordinary road of travelers. The landlady, an honest, ruddy, bustling dame, with a strong leaning to the persecuted Presbyterians, hastily led Edith and her guardian up-stairs into a little bright bed-chamber, whose latticed window looked out through embowering foliage, over the well-filled garden, upon the road they had just traversed. ’Tis but an homely place,” said Mrs. Philpot, “to put a gentlewoman in; but, forsooth, Mistress Edith, we be often put to our wit’s-end that live in a public way, for there’s young Sir Philip Dacre below, with all his serving-men--and wherefore he came hither I wot not, for we’re none such light folks as to put up with the ways of wild young gallants like him, that would have their gentle blood cover all. No, no, says I, we’ll have none of your gay doings here--you must e’en tramp off to old Roger Whittaker’s that never wants room for such as would do themselves or other folk a mischief. A plague on him! it’s e’en him, and such like as him, that has driven canny customs from the Border; and the curate no less--and that’s a meet place for a minister--drinking and dribbling at his ingle-side, morn and even. Let’s have done with them, I say! they’re a worse set than the old priests with their mass-books, and their women’s garments!” “And my father,” said Edith, “is he not here?” “And in truth, Mistress Edith, with my clatter I had nigh forgotten the message the good gentleman gave me. He will be here ere noon; it is ten of the clock now; and if thou wilt content thee in this poor place I’ll bring thee something thou’st not tasted afore since thou cam’st to Cumberland; and somewhat to comfort thee also, Dame Dutton, though I reckon thou hast no sweet tooth for dainties any more than mysel’; but I’ll have thee a comfortable snack afore thou’st gotten thy hood undone. Sit thee down, dame, thou’s kindly welcome.” “And it’s little business Sir Philip Dacre can have in Joe Philpot’s hostel, I trow,” said Dame Dutton, suspiciously, as the landlady left the little apartment. “Did’st never see this gallant, Mistress Edith? I did fancy there were lace and feathers at the great window below; but my old eyes serve me not as they once did--and certain there were idle grooms enow; but I marked not the Dacre coat. Thou would’st see who sat at the great window, sweetheart?” “Nay, truly, Dame Dutton,” said Edith: “I marked no great window, for I was eager to see my father.” “That wert thou! t’would be a false heart that doubted thee,” said the old woman, repentant of her momentary suspicious fear. “Yet I know naught ill of the lad, for all I speak, if it were not that he is his mother’s son--and, lo! you now, Mistress Edith, my hood hath been loosened these five minutes, and there is no tidings of Dame Philpot and her good cheer.” “She will be here anon, dame,” said Edith, opening the lattice.