y he bides at Haigh," answered Boniface, "roistering it with
that Welsh knight there, Sir Osmund Neville. I warrant Sir William's
substance runs gaily down the old parson's throat."

Here the palmer threw the hood over his brows. Suddenly he arose:
striding across the chamber with considerable speed, he twice repeated
the name of Sir Osmund Neville in a subdued tone, but with a bitterness
of spirit that ill accorded with the outward habit of meekness which he
had assumed.

"Giles Dauber! what keeps ye so long there a-gossiping?" shouted a
shrill voice from above. It was the vocal substitute of Mistress Dauber,
who, resolutely determined not to budge at her husband's bidding, had,
as she lay, listened, but to little purpose. Finding it was no everyday
guest, she crept to the ladder-head and gave ear for a while; but soon
discovering it to be an unthrifty sort of intercourse that was going on,
not likely to bring either gain or good-will to the house, and fearing
that Giles might fall into some snare from his ready-mouthed opinions
regarding the unsettled temper and aspect of the time, she thought fit
to break abruptly on the discourse ere it should lead to some dangerous
or forbidden subject. He had, however, hit upon a favourite topic, in
addition to which, he was now evidently loth to leave his guest ere he
had learnt the nature of his errand to these parts. An "o'er-sea
pilgrim," as they were generally styled, was too choice an arrival for a
petty hostel--especially in those times, when newspapers and posts were
not circulating daily and hourly through the land--to let slip an
opportunity of inquiring about the king of Scotland, as Robert Bruce was
then called, or about his majesty, the Sultan Solyman--two personages
who were very frequently confounded with each other in mine host's
political hemisphere, and whose realms formed the great pandemonium
whence issued all that was dire and disastrous to plague and perplex
unhappy England.

"To bed! to bed!--Thou art ready enough to rise when thou art not
bidden. To bed, I say!" angrily shouted the disturbed Benedict.

"Hast _thou_ a wife?" sternly inquired the pilgrim.

"A wife!--marry have I!" exclaimed Giles; "and here she comes."

Finding there was no likelihood of a speedy termination to this
interview, our hostess of the Maypole conceived it to be a matter of
duty that she should at least take her full share in the discussions and
disclosures that might ensue. F