"In the devil's name!" she growled, "how am I to shove this mountain into its place? One of you must remain here; I might as well attempt to throw Blackburn cliff into the sea." "I'll stay then, if you'll wait a minute," replied Roupall; "I defy the devil and all his works; and old Noll himself, the worst of them:--so here goes." Another and a louder noise testified the traveller's impatience; but the summons was repeated a third time before the settle was replaced, and the room restored to its usually desolate and inhospitable appearance. Roupall ascended a narrow ladder, that led to the loft of the cottage-like dwelling, carrying with him a pack resembling those used by itinerant venders of goods; and Mother Hays (for such was her cognomen) holding the flickering candle in one hand, unfastened the door with the other, while Crisp crouched and snarled at her feet. "You could not have been all asleep, dame," said the stranger, as he threw off his horseman's cloak, and hung his rapier on the back of the nearest seat, "for I distinctly saw lights. Is your son within?" "No, marry, good sir; he is far away, in London, with his master, Sir Willmott Burrell, who was looked for home to-day, but came not, as I hear from some neighbours, belonging to East Church and Warden, who were at Lady Cecil's funeral." "Do you expect me to believe there is no one in the house but yourself?" "One other kind gentleman, a pedlar-man, a simple body, who lies above; he's weary travelling, and sleeps soundly." The stranger took off his hat; and as he shook his head, throwing completely back the hair that had in some degree overshadowed his face, the old woman started, and an undefined expression of astonishment and doubt burst from her lips. The gentleman either did not, or appeared not to notice the effect he produced; but carefully drew from his bosom a small book or tablet, and read in it for some minutes with much attention, turning over and over the one or two leaves upon which his eyes were fixed. "And are you sure, good woman, that no other persons are in your house save this same pedlar?" he inquired, now fixing his gaze steadily on the withered countenance of Mother Hays. "Alack! yes, sir, few travellers come to the lone widow's door, and it's an out o' the way place: wouldn't your honour like some supper, or a stoop of wine, or, mayhap, a glass of brandy?--it is useful these raw nights; or a rasher and eggs?" "Are you quite certain there is no other in the house, and that your son is really not returned?" he again inquired, heedless of her invitation. "Why should I deceive your honour?--am I not old, and would you that I should so sin against the Lord?"