They caused a table to be placed at the window, and there, on a soiled cloth, were served with boiled eggs, cold bacon, and bread, by the frowsy woman who had taken the order, set the table, and done the cooking. But the eggs were fresh, and the bacon good, so that little was left on the table when the travellers rose from it. The postilion had evidently found the ale, bread, and cheese better than he had expected; and the horses apparently had nothing to complain of in their refreshment. At all events, the journey was resumed in good spirits, and, as no sign of Filson had appeared upon the stretch of road in sight, the lovers began to feel more secure. Georgiana now recalled Filson’s jaded appearance. Perhaps, as on a former occasion, he had yielded to the dictates of tired nature: perhaps he had thrown over the pursuit, and was merely bound for London. As for the horseman with him, that might have been a postboy or a casual fellow traveller. While their own chaise went rolling along at good speed, the lovers felt hope increase within them. Nevertheless, they were still determined to go on by night. Dusk had risen—or, rather, fallen, to be accurate in spite of the poets—when they arrived at the place where they would have to obtain the horses and vehicle for their night journey. It was a small town, with a High Street enlivened by the humbler inhabitants strolling up and down in the light from the shop windows. A lamp hung over the entrance to the principal inn. As soon as the chaise was in the yard, Everell called for a fresh conveyance. The landlord was very sorry, but there were no horses. How soon would there be any? Certainly not that night: he wouldn’t send out tired cattle, not for love or money. Would there be a stage-coach, or even a carrier’s wagon? Not before morning. Everell turned to the postilion, who was now busy with his own fagged horses. No, sir; this was as far as he dared go: he knew his orders; his cattle were done for, and _he_ was done for, and he wouldn’t let his beasts go another mile, not for love or money or the King himself. “Mind how you speak of the King, booby,” a voice broke in, pertly; and Everell, looking around, saw three or four trim young fellows at the taproom door, all in red coats. “Soldiers in town?” said Everell to the landlord. “Yes, your Honour; two companies waiting orders. You’d ’a’ had the pleasure of meeting the officers at dinner if you’d come a little sooner, but now they be all gone to a ball at a gentleman’s house in the neighbourhood. Most of them lodge here; but I have a very good room left, at your Honour’s service.” “I don’t want a room. I want horses. Where can I get them? Is there no other place in the town?” The landlord shook his head sadly; but one of the soldiers said: “There’s a house across the way, sir,—the Red Swan. I’m not sure you can get horses there, but ’tis there or nowhere if this house can’t supply them.”