A voice called out, "Come in," and she obeyed. The room was of moderate size, divided into small compartments, each containing a rough wooden table and a couple of benches to match. The floor was sanded, the ceiling low and smoke-blackened, but there was no appearance of squalor, and the few occupants, who were reading the _News_ sheet or playing dominoes, looked respectable and orderly enough. Reassured, Prue approached the man in charge of the little curtained bar, and in a timid voice inquired for "Mr. Steve Larkyn." He stared at her, but her veil effectually hid her face, though the sweetness of her voice and the distinction of her bearing could not be disguised. "Steve Larkyn? I’ll call him, my lady," said the man. "I’m no lady," retorted Prue sharply. "If I were I should not be asking for Steve Larkyn!" She was sorry for her quickness the next moment, for the man laughed rather rudely, and opening a door behind him, called out, "Hullo, Steve, here’s a lady asking for thee, that says she ain’t no lady." The Steve Larkyn who came hurrying out was so unlike the one she had seen in disguise, that she was about to repudiate him, when with a sudden grimace he changed himself back into the rustic foot-boy, all but the shock of tow-colored hair, which no longer covered his sleek brown head. The change passed like a ripple of wind over a smooth pool, but it reassured Prue. "Can you come outside a minute?" she said, in a very low voice; "I must speak with you." He followed her into the street, and once out of range of observant eyes and ears, she grasped him by the arm, and demanded to be taken instantly to the captain. "I can take a message," said Steve, hesitating. "It will attract less notice than a visit from a lady." "Waste no time in idle objections," she cried, almost fiercely. "I _must_ see him; what I have to say is for his ear alone, and even if otherwise, ’twould be a waste of precious time to tell my tale twice over. Lead me to him instantly or take the responsibility of his certain death upon your own head!" "Come, then," he replied; "but you must come afoot. ’Tis ill enough to take a woman into a secret, without a pair of spying lackeys to boot. Can you walk a short distance? The road is dark and rough." "No matter, I can walk it." She paid the chairmen liberally, and dismissing them, followed Steve down a steep and narrow lane leading to the riverside. It was unlighted, and she slipped and stumbled on the miry, uneven causeway until Steve, in pity, begged her to lean upon his arm. "’Tis not far now," he said, less gruffly, and a few yards farther they came to a huge and gloomy gateway, within which a little door admitted them into a dark hall. Steve struck a light and led the way across the echoing emptiness and up a broad staircase. He scratched with his nail upon a door, which was promptly opened by Robin himself, fully equipped for a journey.