Cynthia still slept so soundly that I could not find it in my heart to rouse her. Quite a long time I debated within myself whether to leave her thus whilst I betook myself to the nearest house in quest of food. At last, as she showed no signs of waking yet, I determined to do so. Fixing the spot with particular care in my mind where she lay, I went off briskly on my errand. Happily a farm-house of goodly size was but a little distant; and here, by the aid of the magic guinea, was I accommodated, though, to be sure, without any special degree of favour. And at least my appearance could not be said to merit it. I was without my coat, my clothes were coarse, and the worse for travel, I still bore a black eye, and the small wound at the side of my head was still rendered visible by the blood that had dried about it. But as I had promised myself I got a draught of most excellent ale, a mutton-pasty too, which I bore along with me to eat at my leisure; whilst I procured for Cynthia a jug of warm milk, and fresh butter spread on some dainty slices of bread. As soon as I returned to the place where Cynthia lay, she awoke, wonderfully refreshed and with no trace of the distresses of the previous night about her. She gave expression to her delight when I proudly produced her breakfast; whereon I redonned my coat. And no sooner did she observe the use to which it had been put, than she upbraided me for discarding it. Seating myself beside her, we made a perfectly admirable meal, but perhaps it was not after all our keen hunger that made the best sauce to it, but rather the fact that we were both in our natural minds again, and that our differences were forgotten. All the same, I devoutly hoped that my dear Cynthia would not pause to inquire from what source the royal breakfast sprang. I had no wish, you may be sure, to associate it with Mr. Fielding, however black the ingratitude. Happily the question was not asked.