s easy, untrammelled
career, making time and space of no account by his rapid, fearless
journeys. Now he was prancing the moors of Yorkshire, now he was
scouring the plain between Gloucester and Tewkesbury, but wherever he
rode, he had a purse in his pocket and a jest on his tongue. To recall
his prowess is to ride with him (in fancy) under the open sky along the
fair, beaten road; to put up with him at the busy, white posthouse, to
drink unnumbered pints of mulled sack with the round-bellied landlord,
to exchange boastful stories over the hospitable fire, and to ride forth
in the morning with the joyous uncertainty of travel upon you. Failure
alone lay outside his experience, and he presently became at once the
terror and the hero of England.

Not only was his courage conspicuous; luck also was his constant
companion; and a happy bewitchment protected him for three years against
the possibility of harm. He had been lying at Hatfield, at the George
Inn, and set out in the early morning for London. As he neared the
town-gate, an old beldame begged an alms of him, and though Hind,
not liking her ill-favoured visage, would have spurred forward, the
beldame's glittering eye held his horse motionless. 'Good woman,' cried
Hind, flinging her a crown, 'I am in haste; pray let me pass.' 'Sir,'
answered the witch, 'three days I have awaited your coming. Would you
have me lose my labour now?' And with Hind's assent the sphinx delivered
her message: 'Captain Hind,' said she, 'your life is beset with constant
danger, and since from your birth I have wished you well, my poor skill
has devised a perfect safeguard.' With this she gave him a small box
containing what might have been a sundial or compass. 'Watch this star,'
quoth she, 'and when you know not your road, follow its guidance. Thus
you shall be preserved from every peril for the space of three years.
Thereafter, if you still have faith in my devotion, seek me again, and I
will renew the virtue of the charm.'

Hind took the box joyfully; but when he turned to murmur a word of
gratitude, the witch struck his nag's flanks with a white wand, the
horse leapt vehemently forward, and Hind saw his benefactress no more.
Henceforth, however, a warning voice spoke to him as plainly as did the
demon to Socrates; and had he but obeyed the beldame's admonition, he
might have escaped a violent death. For he passed the last day of the
third year at the siege of Youghal, where; deprived of h