The bitter wind blew in their faces as they toiled on; and, at length, Sandy began to whimper that he could go no farther. They tried their utmost to cheer the lad. “We shall soon be at Watlington,” said Humphrey, “and I’ll get Parslow to give you a berth as stable boy; you shall be as happy as a King, and maybe happier, with plenty to eat and a motherly old cook who’ll see you’re not bullied. Oh! you’ll think yourself in paradise after the life you’ve led with Aaron.” Sandy grinned placidly, but soon remarked again that he was “cruel footsore.” “This is Chalgrove field, where Colonel Hampden got his death wound,” said Humphrey, and Gabriel looked over the snowy ground, gleaming white in the starlight, and tried to think how it had looked on that fatal day when a deadly fight had been fought, and the waving corn had been trampled underfoot and dyed crimson with the blood of the noblest of Englishmen. By this time the excitement which had carried him on had subsided, and though he said nothing, it was evident to Humphrey that only dogged resolution and an indomitable will enabled him to drag one foot after the other. But he came of a stock that was not easily daunted, and it was not till they reached the “Hare and Hounds” at Watlington that he would admit that he was dead beat. “Come round to the back entrance,” said Humphrey. “I’ll get a word with old Mogg the cook.” Softly lifting the latch, he took them into the kitchen of the inn, where an old crone, with a most good-natured face, sat alone by the fire. “Mogg,” said Humphrey, stealing across the room, “a happy Christmas to you, and of your charity take us into hiding, for we stand in peril of our lives.” “Larka mercy, Master Humphrey, how you do startle a body,” exclaimed the old woman, beaming with pleasure at the sight of one she had known from babyhood. “What’s amiss with yonder gentleman? Methinks he is but ill-fitted for travelling. ’Tis in bed you should be, sir, with a good sack posset and warm blankets.” “In truth, ’tis where I would fain be,” said Gabriel, dropping on to the nearest bench. “Yet I would crave leave to have a wash first.” Sandy stared at him, that anyone should actually wish to be clean on this cold winter’s night seemed to him the most extraordinary thing he had ever heard. “Ay, Mogg, the brutes have treated my friend most scurvily,” said Humphrey; “do you furnish him with one of your master’s shirts and a pair of hose, and look well to him, for he’s worn out and half-starved. But first take me to the master’s room and let me have speech of him in private, for we will keep our coming quiet if possible.”