So I forsook the crowd, which was far too busy to take heed of me, and slipping round into that quiet street from which I had escaped the night before, went up a narrow passage to the private side door of the inn. ’Twas fast, as had I imagined it would be, but when I knocked the bolts were hastily withdrawn, the door was opened cautiously, and there before me stood one of the thieving rascals who had tried to rob me of my horse. He started back and stared. I frowned upon him boldly. "What now?" said he when we had taken our fill of one another. "What is thy business, friend?" His speech was thick, his face deep red, while as he stood there with a hand upon the door, he swayed a little. "The same as yesternight," I answered. "Ah--our--our--godly--chaplain, eh?" jerked he. I nodded sternly. "Ah, and what then?" he mumbled, stroking his beard as though unable to collect his thoughts. "Look you, friend, my orders are to keep the door ’gainst all intruders. Yet an your business be in truth with---- Ah, by my soul, friend, yes--that’s it--the password of the night; what is it? Give it quickly, and pass on." At first I felt inclined to turn and flee for it while yet there was a chance, not knowing whom the drunken lout might bring about my ears; but second thoughts constrained me to go boldly through with it, for verily I was in that state which cares not what may happen. Therefore I said: "I do not know the password of the night." "What’s that?" roared he. "Business with godly chaplain and don’t know password? Ho! ho! now, if that be not pretty!" With that he put his arms akimbo and burst into a roaring laugh, so that for a moment I had half a mind to knock him down and stride across his barrel of a body. But cautiousness prevailed. "Pretty enough, but true," said I. "For, look you, I have been away on very urgent business of the chaplain’s since yesternight, and have but just returned here. Prithee, what is the password, friend?" I added quickly. Perhaps it was the very brazenness of such a question that threw the muddled fellow off his guard; at any rate, he lurched towards me, and whispered underneath his ale-soaked breath: "’Tis Zion, friend--Zion--mark you, Zion. Make sure on’t, for it may serve thee well enough ere night be ended." Little knowing how prophetic were those latter words, he drew aside; then, as I would have passed him by, he plucked me by the sleeve, and, with a knowing wink, said: "A favour, friend, a favour. Speak well of one John Coram to his reverence, for verily my zeal is most abounding. Hark!" he added, raising a shaking hand as a great shout reached us from the street. "Doth not the Lord’s cause prosper mightily? Yea, I trow it doth indeed. And what am I, John Coram, to be spoken well of to his reverence? Friend, it might seem to thee that I am overfull of ale, but ’tis not so; nay, I vow I never touch the stuff. ’Tis burning zeal which fills me, nothing else. Zeal, I say, zeal! zeal!"