“Aye, to be sure,” says he, “Well, Master Coope, I progressed safely through divers difficulties--though, indeed, I had one adventure twixt Northallerton and York that has elements of danger in’t--until I had passed the town of Pomfret by some two miles, when my horse had the ill-fortune to fall and cut its right knee very severely. As you may believe, this put me in a sad position, for my orders were imperative. Now as I stood there, wondering what to do, there came along the road an old gentleman of exceeding fine presence, and with him the handsomest young gentlewoman that I have seen this many a day. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I am in sore trouble, and crave your assistance. My horse has cut its knee somewhat severely--if your stable is at hand suffer me to lead him there that I may wash and bandage his wound.’ ‘Of a surety!’ says he, very prompt and polite. But he suddenly looked at me from head to foot. ‘What art thou?’ he says, with rank suspicion in his eyes. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I am an officer in the Parliamentarian forces.’ ‘A rebel!’ says he. ‘A renegade! Get thee gone, traitor--expect no help from me--shouldst hang from yonder oak!’ ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I entreat you to forget that I am your foe, and beg you only to remember that I am a gentleman, a Christian, and in need.’” “Faith!” says I, “you touched him in a sore place there.” “So I perceived,” says he, “for he immediately straightened himself up and looked at me very fierce. ‘Hah!’ says he. ‘Bring thy horse after us--I have forgotten thy first description of thyself, young man.’ So I walked after him, the young gentlewoman having gone on before, and presently he turns aside into an ancient courtyard that lay within the gates of an old manor-house. ‘There,’ says he, ‘take thy beast into the stable and doctor him--God forbid that I should not do thee mercy, even if thou art an enemy.’ ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I am no enemy to you, but your very much obliged servant.’ ‘Tut, tut,’ says he, and goes into his house. So I made for the stable with my horse and there put his wound to rights, and felt thankful that I had fared so well. But my story is wearisome to you, Master Coope?” “Sir,” says I, “since you introduced my worshipful uncle into it, it has possessed the keenest interest for me.” “Well,” he says, “while I was repairing the damage to my beast’s knee, the old gentleman, your uncle, came to me again and looked at me with some curiosity. ‘So thou art in good sooth, a rebel?’ says he, at last. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I am what you call a rebel, and you are what I call a rebel.’ ’Tis a mere difference of opinion between us.’ ‘Hah!’ says he. ‘Well I grieve for thee, young man. Be advised; go home, and serve the king loyally.’ ‘Sir,’ I says, ‘I serve a greater Power than the king, and am on its business now.’ At that he walks up and down the stable awhile with his head bent and his hands behind his back.” “A favourite position of his,” says I, my thoughts going back to other times.