Mr. Thomas Levitt, the landlord, received them beaming hearty welcome, and with many nods and winks anent “true-believers” one and all; and himself conducted them upstairs where, after sundry ablutions, they sat down to viands that amply justified Sir Hector’s prophecy. And a very excellent, though somewhat silent, meal they made of it; even when hunger was appeased they spoke little—Sir Hector because he was comfortably drowsy, my lady because she was far too busy scheming out her next course of procedure, and Sir John because he was content to study her half-averted face as she sat, staring out of the open lattice. Thus he noted how her gaze turned suddenly from the sunny landscape without to her cloak, where it hung across an adjacent chair-back, and thence once more to the window, almost furtively, while her foot began to tap with restless impatience. At last, Sir Hector chancing to snore gently, my lady started, glanced swiftly from the sleeper to Sir John and, meeting his whimsical glance, flushed suddenly and grew immediately angry in consequence. “Well, sir,” she demanded, frowning. “I rejoice to know it, my Rose, for I——” “I am not ‘your’ Rose!” she retorted petulantly, whereat he smiled gently. Quoth he: “Nay, Rose, who knows what the future may disclose? Shy Rose, sly Rose, though thou seek’st to fly, Rose——” “To fly?” she repeated, with startled look. “What—what do you mean?” “—Know, Rose, O Rose, love doth with thee go, Rose.” “Love, Sir John?” she questioned mockingly. “Indeed, and whose? And whither doth it go, pray?” “Here and there, everywhere, this I vow to thee and swear—‘For though thou flee, Rose, learn of me, Rose—what is to be will surely be, Rose——’” “Oh, ha’ done with your silly rhymes!” she cried in angry impatience. “O Petulance!” he sighed reproachfully. “Why must you interrupt the prophetic muse?” “Prophetic?” she exclaimed scornfully. “Is this another o’ your marvellous guesses?” “Even so, Rose. And here’s yet another! Regarding Sir Hector, his offer, ‘to be or not to be’—your mind is made up. Here, then, steal I away leaving you to wake and tell him aye or no.” Saying which, Sir John arose, tiptoed from the chamber with elaborate care and closed the door softly behind him before she could find a suitable retort. It was perhaps some half-hour later that Sir Hector found him busied inditing a letter; and Sir Hector’s wig was very much askew and his eyes heavy with sleep. “Whaur is she, John?” he inquired, staring about the room. “Whaur’s the lassie Rose?” “’Faith,” answered Sir John, glancing up from his writing, “she should be safe enough. I left her with you.” “An’ me asleep! I waked but the noo an’ ne’er a sign o’ her. Whaur is she, John?” “I don’t know.” “Man, I’ve sought all o’er the inn, aye, an’ the stables too, an’ never a glimpse o’ her——” “Strange!” mused Sir John, brushing chin with the feather of his pen. “Odd ... and yet quite comprehensible——”