“I am beholden to the reverend gentleman for his advice,” answered Wildrake, upon whose tongue it was difficult to impose any curb whatever, even when his own safety rendered it most desirable. “But, gadzookers, let him have had what experience he will in fighting with the Devil, he never saw one so black as I had a tussle with—not a hundred years ago.” “How, friend,” said the clergyman, who understood every thing literally when apparitions were mentioned, “have you had so late a visitation of Satan? Believe me, then, that I wonder why thou darest to entertain his name so often and so lightly, as I see thou dost use it in thy ordinary discourse. But when and where didst thou see the Evil One?” Everard hastily interposed, lest by something yet more strongly alluding to Cromwell, his imprudent squire should, in mere wantonness, betray his interview with the General. “The young man raves,” he said, “of a dream which he had the other night, when he and I slept together in Victor Lee’s chamber, belonging to the Ranger’s apartments at the Lodge.” “Thanks for help at a pinch, good patron,” said Wildrake, whispering into Everard’s ear, who in vain endeavoured to shake him off,—“a fib never failed a fanatic.” “You, also, spoke something too lightly of these matters, considering the work which we have in hand, worthy Colonel,” said the Presbyterian divine. “Believe me, the young man, thy servant, was more likely to see visions than to dream merely idle dreams in that apartment; for I have always heard, that, next to Rosamond’s Tower, in which, as I said, she played the wanton, and was afterwards poisoned by Queen Eleanor, Victor Lee’s chamber was the place in the Lodge of Woodstock more peculiarly the haunt of evil spirits.—I pray you, young man, tell me this dream or vision of yours.”