As, however, he reflected on all this, while forgetting no point that would tell deeply against him--there was not one that would tell in his favour!--he felt no qualm of apprehension, and fear itself was utterly absent. He had set his life upon this cast; the hazard of the die must bring him either a restitution of all that he desired, or total oblivion of all things in this world. He had elected to make the throw, even as the soldier stakes his life against either Fortune's buffets or rewards; fear had no part or parcel in the attempt. Yet, as with the soldier, it behoved him to be wary, to fling no chance away, to risk no more than every brave attempt requires to make it a successful one. What Bevill hoped to find at the "Gouden Leeuw" was, happily, obtainable. A room was put at his disposal which, while looking across the quay on to the river, had also, since it was at an angle of the house, another window giving on to an alley that ran along the side of the inn. "Therefore," Bevill said to himself, "all is very well. Should I be sought for when I am in this room I still have two other modes of egress beside the door. Should they attempt to get at me from either window, still I have the door. Short of surrounding the house, I can hardly be trapped, and not at all without making a good fight of it." "Yet," he continued to muse, as now he endeavoured to make himself presentable and, at the least, well washed and brushed and combed, since he intended at sunset to make his way to Sylvia according to the directions on the letter he bore; "yet it may never come to this. I obtained entrance easily to this city; I have but the brains of a bird if, after I have made myself well acquainted with the place, I do not discover some way of getting Mistress Thorne and myself out of it." By this time the sun was beginning to dip towards where the North Sea lay afar off; already its rays were slanting across the Meuse and into the windows of his room. The air was becoming cooler; soon the evening would be at hand; and then he would make his way towards the "Weiss Haus," as he knew the abode of the late Mr. Thorne was termed; and, if it might be, present his credentials to the young mistress of that house. But first he must make a meal, since he had eaten nothing since he set out from St. Trond. Therefore he went now to the usual description of room where travellers ate, and, ordering a good substantial repast, at down to do justice to it. While he was waiting for his supper to be brought to him, he drew from the pocket in his vest the letter which Lord Peterborough had given him, and regarded it again. It was addressed in the Earl's own hand to "Mistress Sylvia Thorne, of the Weiss Haus, Liége, in the Bishoprick of Liége," and tied with silk, but unsealed, his lordship having either adopted the ancient courteous custom of leaving all letters of presentation open, or perhaps desiring that the bearer of it should read the credentials he bore.