"I brook no insolence, mistress. I don’t answer for my servant’s deeds behind my back. I’ve been away all day, as poor Jenny will bear me witness; was I to know my fool of a servant would play highwayman in my absence? ’Tis a useful fellow, civil, too, beyond most; I picked him up in London; he was in truth commended to me by no less than his grace the Duke of Ormond, who tapped me on the shoulder in the Piazza at Covent Garden, and said, ’Aglionby, my bawcock, you want a servant; I know the very man for you!’ Could I suspect a man after that? How he got mixed up in this business beats me. And as for helping master constable to repair his carelessness—adsbud, ’tis not likely. The man in truth is no longer servant of mine. I am on my way to serve the Queen in Flanders, and this very day arranged with my friend Sir Rupert Verney to take the fellow off my hands. You may hang him, for me!" "There now, Sam," said the hostess, turning to the man who had been felled, and was now at the door glowering; "your tongue runs away wi’ ’ee. Beg the cap’n’s pardon, and don’t go for to make a ninny o’ yourself." "Never mind, my good woman," said Aglionby loftily. "The yokel knows no better. Now, I’m tired out; give me a bed, good soul, for I must away at sunrise—and egad, ’tis past one o’clock! Good-night to ’ee, men; and I hope Sir Godfrey will forgive you, constable." He went from the room, and soon afterwards the hostess bade the villagers get to their beds, and closed the inn for the short remnant of the night. Before seven o’clock next morning the captain was on horseback. The ground was wet; it had been drizzling for several hours, but a misty sun was now struggling up the sky, and Tom ostler foretold a fine day. The captain rode off, answering with a bold stare the suspicious and lowering glances of the few villagers who were on the spot. He was in high spirits; the anxieties of the past night were gone; and as he rode he hummed a careless tune. He had ridden but little more than a mile when, from an intersecting lane, a man stepped out and gripped the horse’s reins. "Get off that there horse!" he said bluntly. "Gads so, Sherry, you gave me quite a turn," said the captain with unusual mildness. "Don’t hinder me, man; I’m off to Flanders, and, i’ faith, that’s where you ought to be yourself, if all was known. Come, what’s the meaning o’t?" "Get off that there horse!" repeated Sherebiah. "I’m a man o’ peace, I be, and I settles all scores prompt." There was a look of determination in his eyes, and in his right hand he grasped a knobby cudgel. "Right! but we’ve no accounts to settle.—What!" he cried, as he saw Sherebiah’s cudgel raised, "you play the bully, eh? Gadzooks, I’ll ferk ye if——" He was drawing his sword, but the cudgel fell with a resounding whack upon his knuckles, and with a cry of pain he scrambled to the ground and stood, a picture of sullen rage, before his intercepter.