Arriving at a house, which, if we might judge in the darkness, seemed to
be of rather greater pretensions than its fellows, our guide stopped, and
whispered to us to mount some steps to a raised wooden gallery, which
intervened between the lane and the doorway. On this, besides the door, a
couple of unglazed windows looked out. The shutter of one was ajar, and
showed us a large, bare room, lighted by a couple of rushlights. Directing
us to place ourselves close to this shutter, the innkeeper knocked at the
door in a peculiar fashion, and almost immediately entered, going at once
into the lighted room. Peering cautiously through the window we were
surprised to find that the only person within, save the newcomer, was a
young woman, who, crouching over a smoldering fire, was crooning a lullaby
while she attended to a large black pot.
"Good evening, mistress!" said the innkeeper, advancing to the fire with a
fair show of nonchalance.
"Good evening, Master Andrew," the girl replied, looking up and nodding,
but showing no sign of surprise at his appearance. "Martin is away, but he
may return at any moment."
"Is he still of the same mind?"
"Quite."
"And what of Sully? Is he to die then?" he asked.
"They have decided he must," the girl answered gloomily. It may be
believed that I listened with all my ears, while the king by a nudge in my
side seemed to rally me on the destiny so coolly arranged for me.
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