She nodded. Irresistibly, as her companion remained silent a moment in deep thought, her fingers went out and stroked his velvet sleeve. She sighed blissfully and folded her hands in her lap. “I was telled by a countryman up the road that there is a house in your town which has been recently taken by a stranger. ’Tis a house, I am informed, with many gables and dormer windows.” The speaker glanced sharply at his companion. “Do you hap to know the place?” “Yea, good sir,” she replied eagerly; “the gossips say it be a marvel with its fine furnishings, though none o’ the goodwives have so much as put their noses inside the door, the master being a stern, unsocial body. But the Moorish wench who keeps his home has blabbed o’ Turkey covers and velvet stool cushions. Ye should hear tell—” “What sort of looks has this fine gentleman,” interrupted the Cavalier; “is he of lean, sour countenance—” She nodded. “Crafty-eyed, tall—” “Nay, not so tall,” she broke in; “about as ye be in height, but not so great girth ’round the middle. The children all run from him when he strolls out at even-tide, tapping with his stick, and frowning. Our magistrate and minister hold him in great respect as one o’ wit and learning, with mickle gold from foreign parts. The naughty boys call him Old Ruddy-Beard, for aught ye can see o’ his face be the tip o’ his long nose ’neath the brim o’ his beaver-hat and his red beard lying on his white ruff. Also he wears a cape o’ sable velvet, and he be honoured with a title, being called Sir Jonathan Jamieson.” During her description the Cavalier had nodded several times, and when she finished, his face was not good to look at. His eyes, which had been so genial, were now cold and shining as his sword. “Have I found you at last, oh mine enemy,” he exulted, “at last, at last?” Thus he muttered and talked to himself, and his smile was not pleasant to see. Glancing at the little maid, he perceived she was startled and shrank from him. He patted her shoulder. “Now, hark ye, mistress,” he whispered, “when next you pass this man, say softly these words to greet his ears alone: ‘The King sends for his black powder.’” “Perchance he will think me a witch and I say such strange words to him,” she answered, drawing away; “some say no one be more afeared o’ witches than he.”