At my request backed by a promise to turn the crown into half a guinea, the butler got them some breakfast. Fortunately the Squire and the parson were due at a duck-shooting ten miles off by seven o'clock, and so were stirring early. My matter was soon settled. The Squire sat magisterially in his elbow-chair, and Nance and her father told their tale, precisely as I had told it before them. It cleared me and made the thief-catchers look mightily confused and sheepish, and very relieved they were when, as a politic way of staving off awkward questions, I grandly accepted their apologies. "I knew you weren't Swift Nicks," said the Squire, "when I saw you mending my lad's fishing-rod. Damme, we'll get him though, before we've done." He invited me to join him at breakfast, where we were alone for the first time. "Is it into the fire or into the fender?" he asked meaningly. I was ready for him and, stopping with the carving knife half-way through a fine ham I was slicing, said, as if amazed, "Is what into the fire or into the fender?" "The chestnut," said he. "The chestnut!" I retorted. "Well, well! I don't blame you for your caution, sir. Sir James Blount sounded me and I know you know my reply. Whether fire or fender will make no difference to me, and I wouldn't miss to-day's duck-shoot to make it either." "I hope there'll be plenty of birds, and strong on the wing," said I. This ended all the talk that passed between us on the great event that had so strangely brought us together. He, the squire of half a dozen villages, went duck-shooting while the destiny of England was being settled just outside his own door. For the second time Nance walked a space by my side to wish me good-bye. "Nance, my sweet lass," said I, pulling Sultan up, "do you know that dirty little ale-house near your home?" "Where the painted woman lives, sir?" "That very place! Now Swift Nicks is hiding there. Go back and tell the Squire you can find Swift Nicks for him, and they'll fill your pinner with guineas. You'll kiss me for a pinnerfull of guineas, won't you?" "No, sir," said she very decidedly. "Then kiss me, Nance, because, though we shall never meet again, we've helped one another when we did meet." She put her foot on mine, and I lifted her up in my arms and kissed her red young lips and tear-stained cheeks. "Good-bye, Nance!" "Good-bye, sir. God bless you!" At a bend in the road I turned to look at her again. She was standing there, looking after me, and waved her bonnet in farewell. I took off my hat and waved back, and then she was gone from sight. "She's a good girl is Nance," said I aloud, "and you, curse you, are the cause of all my troubles"--this to my new hat. My foppery had cost me dear. What would the Prince say to my failure? What would Margaret say? There would once more be questionings in her eyes, and the shadow of doubt on her face.