ost in
consequence said he had seen no such person.

When Winterton had finished his repast, and was getting his second
stoup of wine heated, he asked where he was to sleep, to the which
question the host replied that he feared he would, like others, be
obligated to make a bench by the fireside his couch, all the beds in the
house being already bespoke or occupied. "Every one of them is double,"
said the man, "save only one, the which is paid for by a young man that
goes off at break of day and who is already asleep."

At this Winterton swore a dreadful oath that he would not sleep by the
fire after riding fifty miles while there was half a bed in the house,
and commanded the host to go and tell the young man that he must half
blankets with him.

My grandfather knew that this could only refer to him; so, when their
host came and opened the sliding doors of the bed, he feigned himself to
be very fast asleep at the back of the bed, and only groaned in
drowsiness when he was touched.

"O, let him alane," cried Winterton, "I ken what it is to be tired; so,
as there's room enough at the stock, when I have drank my posset I'll
e'en creep in beside him."

My grandfather, weary as he was, lay panting with apprehension, not
doubting that he should be speedily discovered; but when Winterton had
finished his drink and came swaggering and jocose to be his bedfellow,
he kept himself with his face to the wall, and snored like one who was
in haste to sleep more than enough, insomuch that Winterton, when he lay
down, gave him a deg with his elbow and swore at him to be quiet. His
own fatigue, however, soon mastered the disturbance which my grandfather
made, and he began himself to echo the noise in defenceless sincerity.

On hearing him thus fettered by sleep, my grandfather began to consider
with himself what he ought to do, being both afraid and perplexed he
knew not wherefore; and he was prompted by a power that he durst not and
could not reason with to rise and escape from the jeopardy wherein he
then was. But how could this be done, for the house was still open, and
travellers and customers were continually going and coming. Truly his
situation was one of great tribulation, and escape therefrom a thing
seemingly past hope and the unaided wisdom of man.

CHAPTER XII

After lying about the period of an hour in great perturbation, he began
to grow more collected, and the din and resort of strangers in the house
also