There was no difficulty at the gate, where the sentry recogniz’d the two princes and open’d the wicket at once. Long after it had clos’d behind me, and I stood looking back at Oxford towers, all bath’d in the winter moonlight, I heard the two voices roaring away up the street: “It was a frog leap’d into a pool—” At length they died into silence; and, hugging the king’s letter in my breast, I stepped briskly forward on my travels. CHAPTER IV. I TAKE THE ROAD. So puffed up was I by the condescension of the two princes, and my head so busy with big thoughts, that not till I was over the bridges and climbing the high ground beyond South Hincksey, with a shrewd northeast wind at my back, could I spare time for a second backward look. By this, the city lay spread at my feet, very delicate and beautiful in a silver network, with a black clump or two to southward, where the line of Bagley trees ran below the hill. I pulled out the letter that Anthony had given me. In the moonlight the brown smear of his blood was plain to see, running across the superscription: “_To our trusty and well beloved Sir Ralph Hopton, at our Army in Cornwall—these._” ’Twas no more than I look’d for; yet the sight of it and the king’s red seal, quicken’d my step as I set off again. And I cared not a straw for Dr. Kettle’s wrath on the morrow. Having no desire to fall in with any of the royal outposts that lay around Abingdon, I fetched well away to the west, meaning to shape my course for Faringdon, and so into the great Bath road. ’Tis not my purpose to describe at any length my itinerary, but rather to reserve my pen for those more moving events that overtook me later. Only in the uncertain light I must have taken a wrong turn to the left (I think near Besselsleigh) that led me round to the south: for, coming about daybreak to a considerable town, I found it to be, not Faringdon, but Wantage. There was no help for it, so I set about enquiring for a bed. The town was full, and already astir with preparations for cattle-fair; and neither at the “Bear” nor the “Three Nuns” was there a bed to be had. But at length at the “Boot” tavern—a small house, I found one just vacated by a couple of drovers, and having cozen’d the chambermaid to allow me a clean pair of sheets, went upstairs very drowsily, and in five minutes was sleeping sound. I awoke amid a clatter of voices, and beheld the room full of womankind. “He’s waking,” said one. “Tis a pity, too, to be afflicted thus—and he such a pretty young man!” This came from the landlady, who stood close, her hand shaking my shoulder roughly. “What’s amiss?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. “Why, ’tis three of the afternoon.” “Then I’ll get up, as soon as you retire.” “Lud! we’ve been trying to wake thee this hour past; but ’twas sleep—sleep!” “I’ll get up, I tell you.” “Thought thee’d ha’ slept through the bed and right through to the floor,” said the chambermaid by the door, tittering.