It was indeed Saxon, who strode into the room to tell us that our horses were at the door, and that all was ready for our departure. Taking him aside I explained to him in a whisper what had passed between the stranger and ourselves, with the circumstances which had led me to suggest that he should join our party. The old soldier frowned at the news. ‘What have we to do with such a coxcomb?’ he said. ‘We have hard fare and harder blows before us. He is not fit for the work.’ ‘You said yourself that Monmouth will be weak in horse,’ I answered. ‘Here is a well-appointed cavalier, who is to all appearance a desperate man and ready for anything. Why should we not enrol him?’ ‘I fear,’ said Saxon, ‘that his body may prove to be like the bran of a fine cushion, of value only for what it has around it. However, it is perhaps for the best. The handle to his name may make him welcome in the camp, for from what I hear there is some dissatisfaction at the way in which the gentry stand aloof from the enterprise.’ ‘I had feared,’ I remarked, still speaking in a whisper, ‘that we were about to lose one of our party instead of gaining one in this Bruton inn.’ ‘I have thought better of it,’ he answered, with a smile. ‘Nay, I’ll tell you of it anon. Well, Sir Gervas Jerome,’ he added aloud, turning to our new associate, ‘I hear that you are coming with us. For a day you must be content to follow without question or remark. Is that agreed!’ ‘With all my heart,’ cried Sir Gervas. ‘Then here’s a bumper to our better acquaintance,’ cried Saxon, raising his glass. ‘I pledge ye all,’ quoth the gallant. ‘Here’s to a fair fight, and may the best men win.’ ‘Donnerblitz, man!’ said Saxon. ‘I believe there’s mettle in you for all your gay plumes. I do conceive a liking for you. Give me your hand!’ The soldier of fortune’s great brown grip enclosed the delicate hand of our new friend in a pledge of comradeship. Then, having paid our reckoning and bade a cordial adieu to Dame Hobson, who glanced methought somewhat reproachfully or expectantly at Saxon, we sprang on our steeds and continued our journey amidst a crowd of staring villagers, who huzzaed lustily as we rode out from amongst them. Chapter XIV. Of the Stiff-legged Parson and his Flock