“God scald you, landlord!” he said, in a hoarse, weak voice, “you have burnt my mouth.” “There--there, mine own,” said the lady, caressing his curls. “Drink freely. It will not hurt you, indeed; nay, it will give you ease.” Having settled the sufferer in some degree of comfort, she asked the landlord to lead her to the stable. “No, no, Patsy woman,” said the stricken man, “you must not leave me. You will not leave me, will you, Patsy?” He entreated her like a child. “I will not be five minutes away,” she answered, soothingly. “But I cannot neglect the poor, good horses, can I, mine own? You would have them lie in comfort and warmth, even as you do.” “Prithee, stay you here, madam,” said the honest serving-girl. “And take off your wet cloak, and come about the fire. I will look to the horses.” “No, child,” said the lady; “I must look to them myself. They have played a noble part this night.” Despite the entreaties of the sufferer, whose demands for his wife not to leave him rose almost to a wail, she insisted on going out to see that Joseph had succoured the distressed creatures according to their deserts. When she returned, Cicely, the serving-maid, grew truly imperative. “I’m a-going to take them wet clothes off you, madam, by your leave,” she said. “You will surely get your death. Why, even now you look fit almost for the grave.” The lady regarded the honest girl with a wan smile. “Child, you are very good,” she said. With her aid she discarded all her travelling attire except the mask. “May I untie it for you, madam?” said the girl. The lady hesitated. “N-no,” she said. “Not to-night, I think.” The landlord pricked his ears up. Gazing at her, he observed that at last the blood had come to her pale cheeks. His own pulse quickened, too. And he smiled to note how her attempt at secrecy galled her. Even with a strip of black velvet across her eyes, her face was as easy to read as a printed page. She was a simple creature, whose instincts betrayed her. Very soon the stricken man was conveyed to the chamber that had been set for his reception. It had little to recommend it, to be sure, yet it was the best and most spacious the “Sea Rover” could boast. It had not been used for years; and when a fire was kindled in the unwilling chimney, a colony of sheltering birds were grievously perturbed. However, Cicely the serving-maid was a bustling soul with a warm and capacious heart, into which the poor guests had been already admitted. She had aired the sheets by the kitchen fire, dusted the apartment, and adjusted the bed and its furniture, all by the time the unhappy gentleman was got up the stairs. The landlord came at the tail of the procession. He wore a sagacious gravity. He said: “If I can give ye a finger of assistance, madam, I shall be more than happy.” “My husband can only suffer me about him,” said the lady. “But you are very kind.” “And what might be his malady, if I may be so bold, ma’am?” the landlord asked.