To beat off this pertinacious rival, the proprietor of the stage had been obliged to propitiate the inn-keepers of various important towns, by dividing his favours amongst them; and thus the traveller was forced to wait nearly one hour at Hythe, during which he might sup if he liked, although he was only about five miles from Folkestone. The supper room of the inn was vacant when the two officers of Dragoons entered, but the table, covered with its neat white cloth, and all the preparations for a substantial meal, together with a bright fire sparkling in the grate, rendered its aspect cheerful and reviving after a long and tedious journey, such as that which had just been accomplished. Sir Edward Digby looked round well pleased, turned his back to the fire, spoke to the landlord and his maid about supper, and seemed disposed to enjoy himself during the period of his stay. He ordered, too, a pint of claret, which he was well aware was likely to be procured in great perfection upon the coast of Kent. The landlord in consequence conceived a high respect for him, and very much undervalued all the qualities of his companion, who, seating himself at the table, leaned his head upon his hand, and fell into deep thought, without giving orders for anything. The host, with his attendant star, disappeared from the room to procure the requisites for the travellers' meal, and Sir Edward Digby immediately took advantage of their absence to say, "Come, come, my dear Colonel, shake this off. I think all that we have lately heard should have tended to revive hope, and to give comfort. During all the six years that we have been more like brothers than friends, I have never seen you so much cast down as now, when you are taking the field under the most favourable circumstances, with name, station, reputation, fortune, and with the best reason to believe those true whom you had been taught to suppose false."