"Thou wouldst be out," answered Sir Osborne: "my heart's a sad one;" and he added a sigh that showed there was some truth in what he said, though he said it lightly. "They sayo that thin doublets cover alway gay heart," said the Portingal captain. "Now, senhor! your doublets was not very thick, good youth." "Good youth!" said Sir Osborne, turning towards the speaker, whom he had not before remarked, and glancing his eye over his person; "good youth! what mean you by that, sir?" But as his eye fell upon the face of the Portingal, his cheek suddenly reddened very high, and the glance of the other sunk as if quelled by some powerful recollection. "Oh, ho!" continued the knight, "a word with you, sir;" and rising, he pushed away the settle, and walked towards the end of the room. "Pray don't fight, gentlemen!" cried the hostess, catching hold of the skirt of Sir Osborne's doublet. "Pray don't fight! I never could bear to see blood spilled. John Alesop! Husband! you are a constable; don't let them fight!" "Leave me, dame; you mistake me. We are not going to fight," said Sir Osborne, leading her back to the fire; "I merely want to speak one word to this fellow. Come here, sir!" The Portingal captain had by this time risen up to his full height; but as he marched doggedly after the young knight, there was a swinging stoop in his long neck that greatly derogated from the dignity of his demeanour. Sir Osborne spoke to him for some time in a low voice, to which he replied nothing but "Dios! It's nothing to I! Vary well! Not a word!" "Remember, then," said the knight, somewhat louder, "if I find you use your tongue more than your prudence, I will, slit your ears!" "Pan de Dios! you are the only man that dare to say me so," muttered the captain, following towards the fire, at which the knight now resumed his seat, and where mine host was expatiating to Jekin Groby, the hostess, the cook, and the turnspit-dog, upon the propriety of every constable letting gentlemen settle their differences their own way. "For," said he, "what is the law made for? Why, to punish the offender. Now, if there is no offence committed, there is no offender. Then would the law be of no use; therefore, to make the law useful, one ought to let the offence be committed without intermeddling, which would be rendering the law of no avail." "Very true," said his wife. "Why, there's something in it," said Jekin Groby; "for when I was at court, the king himself ordered two gentlemen to fight. Lord a' mercy! it seemed to me cruel strange!" "Nay, when wert thou at court, Master Jekin?" demanded the landlord.