though
without any apparent necessity, the precise nature of their present
expedition; and Whitaker was equally communicative to his comrade Lance,
the keeper. "It is strange enough, Master Whitaker," said the latter,
when he had heard the case, "and I wish you, being a wise man, would
expound it;--why, when we have been wishing for the King--and praying
for the King--and fighting for the King--and dying for the King, for
these twenty years, the first thing we find to do on his return, is to
get into harness to resist his warrant?"

"Pooh! you silly fellow," said Whitaker, "that is all you know of the
true bottom of our quarrel! Why, man, we fought for the King's person
against his warrant, all along from the very beginning; for I remember
the rogues' proclamations, and so forth, always ran in the name of the
King and Parliament."

"Ay! was it even so?" replied Lance. "Nay, then, if they begin the old
game so soon again, and send out warrants in the King's name against his
loyal subjects, well fare our stout Knight, say I, who is ready to take
them down in their stocking-soles. And if Bridgenorth takes the chase
after us, I shall not be sorry to have a knock at him for one."

"Why, the man, bating he is a pestilent Roundhead and Puritan," said
Whitaker, "is no bad neighbour. What has he done to thee, man?"

"He has poached on the manor," answered the keeper.

"The devil he has!" replied Whitaker. "Thou must be jesting, Lance.
Bridgenorth is neither hunter nor hawker; he hath not so much of honesty
in him."

"Ay, but he runs after game you little think of, with his sour,
melancholy face, that would scare babes and curdle milk," answered
Lance.

"Thou canst not mean the wenches?" said Whitaker; "why, he hath been
melancholy mad with moping for the death of his wife. Thou knowest our
lady took the child, for fear he should strangle it for putting him in
mind of its mother, in some of his tantrums. Under her favour, and among
friends, there are many poor Cavaliers' children, that care would be
better bestowed upon--But to thy tale."

"Why, thus it runs," said Lance. "I think you may have noticed, Master
Whitaker, that a certain Mistress Deborah hath manifested a certain
favour for a certain person in a certain household."

"For thyself, to wit," answered Whitaker; "Lance Outram, thou art the
vainest coxcomb----"

"Coxcomb?" said Lance; "why, 'twas but last night the whole family saw
her, as one would say, flin