Swenson nods, bids the man good-night, and then strides off in the direction of the old gray tower. The major part of the loiterers go with him; but three or four still linger, looking along the misty road, and waiting as if in expectation of something. A light up in one of the windows of the inn tells that Hobb Dipping is preparing his best room for the reception of the approaching travellers, in case it should be needed; and a savoury smell of hot meat which issues forth through the open doorway of the hostel makes the few hungry watchers that remain feel inclined to seek their own supper-tables. At length mine host has finished his task, and the most presentable apartment that the house contains is ready for instant occupation if necessary. Honest Hobb Dipping gazes wistfully out of a rickety diamond-paned window, and thinks that his labour must have been in vain. The moon is rising from the shadow of a thick bank of vapour, its dim red outline as yet but faintly seen through the misty cloud. It is getting late; the travellers must have passed by the bridge, and ridden along the flood-bank. ‘If they know not the way well,’ mutters Dipping to himself, ‘they’ll lose themselves in the fen for certain. An awkward path that be, specially binight, with a damp fog rising.’ At this moment, a clatter of horses’ hoofs breaks the silence, and two horsemen canter over the shaky timber bridge and draw up in front of the old inn. Mine host bustles about shouting a number of confused directions; the one youthful domestic which the place boasts of running helplessly to and fro and doing nothing. The foremost rider, suddenly leaping from his horse, strides into the inn, and flings himself into a chair, ordering a private room and supper to be made ready at once. Honest Dipping hurries about, unused to strangers of distinction, bringing in liquor and glasses, meat, platters and knives, besides a quantity of other things that are not wanted, the stranger meanwhile having taken possession of the room up-stairs which had been hurriedly prepared for him. Presently follows the gentleman’s servant, a short muscular fellow, with a sullen, lowering countenance; and a short conversation takes place between the man and his master. ‘Are the horses put up, Derrick?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘And the pistols?’ ‘Here they are, Sir Carnaby.’ ‘Loaded, of course?’ ‘Ay, sir, both of them.’ ‘Right! Now, what think you of this part? Is it not quiet enough for us? I never was in such a dead-alive wilderness before; and taking that into consideration, I fancy it is possible to last out a few days even in this ghastly shanty. After that, I shall ride to Lynn and take ship, for, as I live, the country is getting too hot to hold me.’ Derrick gave vent to a sound resembling a grunt, and muttered a few words containing seemingly some disparaging reference to the ‘king over the water.’