“I do not doubt it,” said the landlord. “But if your looks be a true credential, I may live to rue the day. Upon my life, I never saw a countenance I like so little. If my eyes do not deceive me, I take ye to be a rogue of the first magnitude; a villain that I should fear to turn my back upon.” The fellow laughed. Perchance it was well he did so. For in his laugh there was something frank and human. His lowering face grew vastly more engaging; and the landlord set the candour of it to his favour. “Ah! master,” he said, “you are very hard upon a poor wight who knows not where to turn for a meal in these troublous times. I pray you, have a little pity for one who hath been accustomed to fill his belly, and to sleep in comfort and security.” “In a bridewell, I do not doubt,” said the grim Gamaliel. “Nay, master, there you wrong me,” said the vagrant. “Few have followed a more reputable course than I.” The landlord looked at him piercingly. After all, his mind might be a little better than his appearance. His speech was hardly so rustic as one would expect. “What hath been your station in life?” asked Gamaliel. “And what hath brought you to this pass?” “It is but a few weeks since I was serving-man to my Lord Wilmot,” said the other, hesitatingly. “Why did you quit his service?” the landlord demanded. “’Twas a stroke of evil fortune, master. My lord was too good a friend to poor King Charles Stuart. He is now fleeing o’er hill and dale for his life, with devil a serving-man to attend him.” The landlord listened greedily. In a flash a very bright idea illuminated his mind. “Have you ever seen this Charles Stuart?” he demanded, almost breathlessly. “Have I!” laughed Lord Wilmot’s servitor. “Why, master, I am more familiar with King Charles than I am with my own mother. He and my lord were hand in glove together. Many’s the time I have filled the King’s cup, and listened to his voice. There never was so jovial and kind a gentleman. Why, master, he hath even spoken to me by my name.” The landlord could hardly conceal his great excitement. “Then, of course, sirrah,” said he, “you would recognise this Charles Stuart at once if you saw him?” “Why, master,” said the fellow, “I know him as well as I know the nose on my face.” That was enough for the landlord. He engaged him at once in the dual capacity of drawer and ostler. And so excited was the good Gamaliel, that he forgot or overrode the accumulated instincts of a lifetime. He did not even attempt to beat him down a farthing in the matter of wages. For was it not a truly providential thing, that on that of all nights, in that of all seasons, a man should walk into his kitchen who would be able so readily to resolve his difficulties? He might have searched the breadth of Dorset, and yet have not discovered a person capable of giving an opinion on the identity of Charles Stuart. Fortune was on his side indeed.