“Yes, yes, dearie; but them that know are like to be right, and we must always hope for the best. Now here’s the meal for you, and you will not get a better between York and London. Your man--ah, there I go again--the stranger is looking to his horse, no doubt, as a careful traveller should, and we will see to him when he comes in, so do not you wait.” It was late when Armstrong returned from the stables, for old John’s pack-horse showed signs of distress from travelling between seventy and eighty miles that day, and as the slowest horse in the party sets the pace, the animal had to be seen to and cared for. After his bounteous supper the young man strolled about the rambling inn, and to his surprise came upon a lonely figure in a dim alcove. “Dear lass!” he cried, “you should have been at your rest long ago. This will never do,”--but he sat down beside her. The place was narrow and very cosy, as if the oriel window recess had been constructed for two lovers. “I am not tired,” she said, “and have much to think of, so I knew I could not sleep.” “You should sleep well after so long a day in the open air. Deep thinking is the enemy of rest, and rather useless in the main. I’ll wager you’re wishing for news from the North.” “Yes, I was.” “Well, see the uselessness of that.” “I know it, but how can one guide one’s thoughts?” “Oh, it can be done. They say Cromwell has the power of dropping to sleep the instant he gets half an hour to himself. He has plenty to think of, and yet he must be able to guide his thoughts or abolish them for the moment, or he could not do that.” “They say also that he has some secret power by which he gets news before any one else, and thus appears where he is most needed at the time he is least expected.” “I doubt that. He has well-trained men in his service, which is the whole secret. Do you like Cromwell?” “I do not.” “You surprise me. I thought you were a partizan of his. You remember what I said when we were approaching this inn?” “You said many things.” “Aye. But I said one in particular that I would have wished recalled if it had been said to any one but you. I promised to let you know all about it some day, but I’ve thought over the matter and I’m going to tell you now.” “No, no! I do not wish to hear.” “But listen a moment----” “No! I have been trying to forget what you said.” “It is not fair to you that you should be exposed to an unknown scath. This did not occur to me when I set out, but your journey may be jeopardized because of my being deeper in dangerous projects than you have any suspicion of. So I have need to tell you my real errand in the South.” “Mr. Armstrong, I refuse to hear you. I will not be burdened with what does not concern me. Is your memory so short that you forget what has befallen yourself and your kin by trusting to strangers? I warn you to beware of me, and to treat me as if I were an enemy.” “As if I could!”