efore another hour is
sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters
yonder--"

Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the black jack
and poured half a glass of its contents, which he handed Crispin.

"Drink, man," he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, obeyed him.

Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's back,
pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit. Again, nothing
loath, Crispin did as he was bidden. He was stiff from long riding, and
so with a sigh of satisfaction he settled himself down and stretched out
his long legs.

Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed. He was at a
loss how to open the parlous subject, how to communicate to Crispin the
amazing news upon which he had stumbled.

"Slife' Hogan," laughed Crispin dreamily, "I little thought it was to
you those crop-ears carried me with such violence. I little thought,
indeed, ever to see you again. But you have prospered, you knave, since
that night you left Penrith."

And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman.

"Aye, I have prospered," Hogan assented. "My life is a sort of parable
of the fatted son and the prodigal calf. They tell me there is greater
joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner than--than--Plague on it!
How does it go?"

"Than over the downfall of a saint?" suggested Crispin.

"I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could quote it
you; every man of them is an incarnate Church militant." He paused,
and Crispin laughed softly. Then abruptly: "And so you were riding to
London?" said he.

"How know you that?"

"Faith, I know more--much more. I can even tell you to what house you
rode, and on what errand. You were for the sign of the Anchor in Thames
Street, for news of your son, whom Joseph Ashburn hath told you lives."

Crispin sat bolt upright, a look of mingled wonder and suspicion on his
face.

"You are well informed, you gentlemen of the Parliament," he said.

"On the matter of your errand," the Irishman returned quietly, "I am
much better informed than are you. Shall I tell you who lives at the
sign of the Anchor--not whom you have been told lives there, but who
really does occupy the house?" Hogan paused a second as though awaiting
some reply; then softly he answered his own question: "Colonel Pride."
And he sat back to await results.

There were none. For the moment the name awoke no recollections,
c