"The night is cold, although summer is approaching fast," he said. "Besides, it is well for us to be warm and comfortable. You will drink wine with me. No? Ah, you fear. You are cautious for one so young, but it is well. We shall need caution as well as courage. There, the fire flames. Draw up that chair, good youth, and let us talk in a friendly way. Our skirmish is over, and we have arranged a truce. Nay, more than that, we have agreed to fight on the same side, and I am content. Do you know that for three days following I have dreamt that I shall have a youth, brave and strong and wise, like you, who shall be my friend? Well, I took every precaution before taking you into my confidence, but now I believe you are the fulfilment of my dream. But it will be easier for us to talk if we each have a name. You can call me Father Solomon; what may I call you?" "You may call me Master Roland," I made answer. "Master Roland. Ah, it sounds well. It brings to me memories of great courage, great wisdom, and great fidelity. Master Roland; but Master Roland what?" "That is enough. Master Roland and nothing else." "Ah, very good. A sagacious youth. Ha, ha!" His tone had changed. He evidently desired to be friends; he even regarded me with an air that was almost affectionate. I could have sworn that my presence was in accord with his strongest desires. He sat on one side of the fire, and I on the other--he with his head sunk between his shoulders, and his long beard almost resting on his knees; I alert and watchful, for as yet I had no confidence in him. Around the walls of the room were strange mystic charts, while on the table were grinning skulls and much peculiar apparatus, of the meaning of which I knew nothing. "I will e'en drink some water of life," he said, filling a goblet from a bottle which stood on a shelf. "Ah, it warms my blood and cheers my brains! That is well. Now I will tell you the things you desire to know." He gave me a keen furtive glance as he spoke, but I simply nodded my head and waited for him to proceed. "You would know more of the fair Constance," he said. "That is natural. She is fair of face, and hath a sweet voice; but, Master Roland, take my advice and seek not her company. You cannot help her. She is in danger of her life, and a price is set upon her head!" "What hath she done?" I asked. "Many things. She is the daughter of Master John Leslie, who is the bosom friend of Master Hugh Peters, who was friend and chaplain of Oliver Cromwell. Master John Leslie hated the late king more than any man in the kingdom, and took a principal part in the beheading of Charles. He is a great Independent, Master Roland, and he gave his daughter in marriage to Sir Charles Denman, a man old enough to be her father, but who is also a great Independent, and who fears as much as he hates the thought of the coming of Charles II."