Meanwhile, he sat on and left his companion's occasional sallies
unanswered. In the street men stirred and lanthorns gleamed fitfully,
whilst ever and anon a face surmounted by a morion would be pressed
against the leaded panes of the window.

Thus an hour wore itself out during which poor Hogan sat above, alone
with his anxiety and unsavoury thoughts.

CHAPTER II. ARCADES AMBO

Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and rose. It
was close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's advent. In the streets
the sounds had gradually died down, and peace seemed to reign again
in Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin cautious--for to be cautious and
mistrustful of appearances was the lesson life had taught him.

"Master Stewart," said he, "it grows late, and I doubt me you would be
abed. Give you good night!"

The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then--

"To-morrow, Sir Crispin--" he began. But Crispin cut him short.

"Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. Take one
of those noisome tapers with you, and go."

In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing bottles and
passed out through the door leading to the stairs.

For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in that moment
the expression of his face was softened. A momentary regret of his
treatment of the boy stirred in him. Master Stewart might be a milksop,
but Crispin accounted him leastways honest, and had a kindness for
him in spite of all. He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he
leaned out, as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the
refrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance listeners.

For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the occasion
to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were alert for the
least movement among the shadows of the street. Reassured at last that
the house was no longer being watched, he drew back, and closed the
lattice.

Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his bed,
awaiting him.

"Soul of my body!" cried Hogan ruefully, "I was never nearer being
afraid in my life."

Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale of what
had passed.

"Tis simple enough, faith," said Hogan coolly. "The landlord of The
Angel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his inn--who owns
a pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a man saw perdition in. She
hat