“Then it’s possible ’twas done with fore-thought?” Hugh cried. “Perchance they mean—” “Hush, hush, you fire-eater!” Strangwayes interrupted hastily. “If ’twas the inn people lamed the horse they did it only to stay us here, that they might profit by our tarrying. Or to hinder us in our journey, for this knave Emry has no love unto me.” Yet Strangwayes, Hugh took note when they returned to the house, was merry as ever in his talk with the lean-visaged Emry. He ordered a chamber for the night, and then, free to go and come as he pleased, went sauntering into every corner of the hostelry, from the common room to the sheds and stable. About twilight the journey ended in the kitchen, where, finding Emry’s stepdaughter at work, Strangwayes seated himself on a table and entered into ardent conversation with her about butter-making. Left to himself, Hugh sat down on the settle and, poking the fire vigorously, watched the embers die down and then flare up again, while the light waned or reddened throughout the room. Bits of the smoky ceiling and black walls started into sudden radiance, or the fire gleam was given back by a copper kettle or pewter plate, and once the sudden blaze lit up the two who were by the table. Strangwayes’ face was half shadowed by his long hair, so only his clean-cut chin and confident mouth showed vividly; but the girls face, with drooping eyelids and sober lips that now were silent, was very clear to see. Hugh turned once more to the embers and paid the others no further heed, till Strangwayes came to his side with the noisy announcement that, the kitchen being a very delectable place, they would eat supper there. So the maid lit candles and fetched them food, though she kept silent, even to Strangwayes’ gayest nonsense. At the last she brought wine, as he bade, and filling a glass held it out to him. Hugh, glancing up, left eating to stare at the girl’s white face, and Strangwayes of a sudden caught hold of her arm. “What’s wrong with you, wench?” he asked abruptly. At that the wine went slopping to the floor. “Don’t ’ee tell, sir,” the girl murmured, under her breath, “father’d kill me, if he knew. But there be Roundhead troopers,—they come hither to-night.” A side glance from Strangwayes checked the exclamation that was on the tip of Hugh’s tongue. The girl went on softly: "Father said: ‘He is a swaggering child of Satan, this Papist Strangwayes. A shall not go out of the “Golden Ram” till he goes strapped to another man’s saddle-bow.’" Strangwayes’ nostrils contracted, but he said nothing, merely whistled between his teeth. “A merry fellow your father is,” he broke silence at length; “he does not deserve to have so good a lass for his daughter. Here’s a half-crown to pay for the good wine your floor will scarce appreciate, and here’s a kiss for yourself. And prithee fetch me more drink.”