An hour later we sat down to meat, I clean and tolerably comfortable in shepherd's garb. When we had eaten and drunk our fill, and I had satisfied Jack's curiosity, I asked for cleat-boards and staff, intending to cross to Sandtoft without delay; but while Jack was getting ready for my journey, I fell asleep in my chair, and slept till four o'clock--too late to go and return to meet Bess, who might have something of urgent importance to tell me. I felt heartily ashamed of my drowsiness, and inclined to be angry with Jack for not rousing me; but he answered my rating with-- "Wouldn't ha' waked you for a hatful of gold. Why, you looked as tired as a dog in a pedlar's cart." With the dusk came Bess, who had met a troop of carabineers soon after we parted at Belton, and being questioned by the officer, had sent them eastward to Butterwick ferry. Of her father's whereabouts and present business she knew little, beyond the fact that he had gone away in a hurry on receipt of a message from Sheffield. She was disposed to think the message related to Vliet, for Boswell had growled a curse on "all Dutchmen." Bess had ascertained that my friend Portington was at home, and she urged my going to Tudworth under cover of the darkness. My first duty, she held, was to obtain the help and countenance of friends; and in spite of my longing for sight of Anna, I acknowledged the good sense of the advice, and agreed to set out shortly. I had no sooner said so than we heard the clatter of horses at the trot. "Soldiers!" exclaimed Bess. "Judy Hoggat, be ready to slip out," said I. Jack nodded, and put on his simple disguise. The horsemen drew up with a jangling noise, which certified them soldiers. Heavy footsteps approached the door, and some one knocked as with the butt of a pistol, and called out-- "Open, in the King's name!" Jack threw it wide. "And what does his Majesty want of poor Judy Hoggat?" he asked, in a quavering, frightened voice. There was no chance for him to escape, for the little orchard was thronged with carabineers. A grizzled old sergeant strode into the room, followed by three of his men, and answered-- "A better light for one thing. Stir up your fire, my good woman, and bring me a candle." This done, the sergeant poked the candle in my face. "Uncover your chest," he ordered. The old fellow examined the marks attentively. "As described," he muttered; but I thought he had the look of being mystified about something. "Jim Ulceby, you are my prisoner," said he. "I am not Jim Ulceby, but I yield--under protest."