“And we need not tell him any more than is necessary; it will be safer for him. And now let me ask once more about the secret chamber, to make quite sure I can master the door.” “The rose, fourth in order from the door and the third from the ground.” The good father took out his tablets, and made a note thereof. “Now, dear Cuthbert, our Compline office, and then to rest. We must be waking early.” * * * * * The sun rose brightly upon the old inn; it was a fresh, invigorating morning, with a keen frosty air, just such as would invite one to ride, walk, or run. Cuthbert came out, his valise strapped on by a belt, and was ready to mount; his reputed father had already gone, for he had the longer journey, and Cuthbert was about to depart in turn. He slipped a rose-noble into the hand of the ostler, whose face brightened as he received this unexpected donation, which was hardly a consistent or prudent one on Cuthbert’s part, at least in his assumed character. “Thee beest a gentleman, and dang’d if I don’t tell thee all: I knows thee, I was in Exeter t’other day, when two folks were to have been strapped and cut up.” “You will not betray me, then?” “Not I; ’twor a mortal shame to think of cutting such a likely lad, like a pig to be stowed away in flitches; but I have a word more to say, thee hast an enemy here, or at least he _was_ here.” “Indeed, who was he?” “Red-haired chap--foxey like. Was you two talking much after you went to bed? if so, I hope you did not tell each other any secrets.” “Why? pray tell me.” “Because in next chamber slept red-haired chap--‘foxey’ I calls him,--and as I was going by to my bed at the end of the passage, I seed him through his door, which he had left ajar, with his ear as fast, as if he were glued to the partition, where I knowed there was a little hole.” Cuthbert looked serious as he said, “And were we talking just then?” “Yes, I heard summut about Ilminster and Langport, and some other places; you were talking too loudly, and I don’t doubt ‘foxey’ heard it all, too; beest thee going that way?” “Yes, I must.” “Can’t ye take another? He’s gone that ere way before thee, I saw him start; he had a sword by his side, and may lurk in ambush for thee.” “No, no,” thought Cuthbert, “it means _worse_ than that; he knows about our meeting at midnight, and his plan will be to surprise both of us, and the secret: Sir John may be at Glastonbury, and he would go to him at once.” “Good bye, and many thanks,” he said, aloud, “he has more need to fear _me_ than I _him_. I _must_ catch him, he must never reach Glastonbury before me, it would be utter hopeless ruin. Good bye, keep our secret to yourself, and God bless you.” And setting spurs to his horse, he rode off at a brisk trot. FOOTNOTES