“Ah, I have already told you more than was wise on so short an acquaintance,” said Wentworth, trying another tack. “You yourself gave me a lesson in reticence a moment since, and you have not been so garrulous concerning yourself as I. I do not even know your name, although I suspect your native land lies north of us.” “Sir, I am William Armstrong, and Scotland is my country. As two swords are better than one, I shall be most glad to travel in your company. I may say, however, that I hold a pass from Cromwell himself, so, if you are a King’s man, you may not wish to be my companion.” “Who journeys in Hades must have the devil’s leave,” answered Wentworth jauntily. “I am myself abroad through Cromwell’s permission, and I’ll venture my pass is broader as well as longer than yours. ’Tis sometimes well to have a friend in the enemy’s camp, and my friend pretends he can get anything from Old Noll. Read it, if you think I’m boasting.” Wentworth handed the document to the Scot, who read and returned it. “Mine is but a limited permit compared with this. Where do you expect to encounter your comrade?” “I fear there is little chance of seeing him until I reach Oxford, if indeed I find him there. I suspect he is detained at Carlisle. However, I travel on my own business, and he on his, so it makes little difference to me, save the lack of companionship. War throws together strange fellow-travellers, and I do not inquire too minutely into his affairs, nor he into mine.” “You go to Oxford alone then?” “Part of the way with you, I hope. Yes; I’m tired of waiting, and so set out alone this morning, deviating from the main road and taking these lanes, the better to approach Rudby Hall without undue publicity.”