em, bright and cheerful,
dissipating, in some measure, their former terrors.

Softly and cheerily broke that morning sun upon the frosty and
embossed panes of Gaffer Wiswall's dwelling; but the light brought no
cheer, no solace unto him. The old man was now a withered, a sapless
trunk, stripped of the green verdure which had lately bloomed on its
hoary summit. His daughter, as he loved to call her--and he had almost
cheated himself into the belief--was ravished from him, and the staff
of his declining years had perished.

He was sitting moody and disconsolate, and, like the bereaved mother
in Israel, "refusing to be comforted," when a stranger entered, and,
without speaking, seated himself by the broad ingle, opposite the
goodman, who was looking listlessly forth into the blazing faggots,
but without either aim or discernment. The intruder was wrapped in a
dark military cloak; his hat drawn warily over his forehead,
concealing his features beneath the broad and almost impervious
shadow.

Wiswall awoke from his study, and with a curious eye, seemed silently
to ask the will and business of the stranger; but he spoke not. The
old man, surveying his guest more minutely, inquired--

"Be ye far ridden this morning, Sir Cavalier?"

"Not farther than one might stride ere breakfast," was the reply, but
in a low, and, it seemed, a hasty tone, as though impatient of being
questioned, and preferring to remain unnoticed.

The tapster's instincts were still in operation. With the true spirit
of his calling, he inquired--

"From the army, sir?"

"Ay, from the Grand Turk, an' thou wilt."

"The king, they say, hath a fairer word for the dames than for those
stout hearts who won him his crown," said the victualler, seemingly
conversant in the common rumours that were abroad. "The sparks about
court," continued he, "do ruffle it bravely among the buxom dames and
their beauteous"----Here his daughter's bright image came suddenly
upon his recollection, and the old man wept.

"Why dost weep, old man?" inquired his guest.

"Alas! I had a daughter once, a match fit for the bravest galliard
that sun e'er shown upon. She was the wonder and dismay of all that
looked on her. She loved a soldier dearly, and her mouth would purse
and play, and her eye would glisten at a cap and plume; and yet the
veriest prude in all Christendom was not more discreet."

"Mayhap her sweetheart was a soldier, and abroad at the wars; so that
these were