“I would,” he said, “I had known of this Christian before he started.  Step you down to Vanity Fair, Sir Stranger, if the mood take you; and we’ll show you as pretty a persuasion against pilgrimage as ever you saw.”  He opened his mouth where he stood between me and the stars. “...  There’s many more!” he added with difficulty, as if his rage was too much for him.  He spat into the air and went out.

Presently after Liveloose rose up, smiling softly, and groped after him.

A little silence followed their departure.

“You must tell your friend, Mr. Reverie,” said Atheist good-humouredly, “that Mr. Cruelty says more than he means.  To my mind he is mistaken—­too energetic; but his intentions are good.”

“He’s a staunch, dependable fellow,” said Obstinate, patting down the wide cuffs he wore.

But even at that moment a stranger softly entered the inn out of the night.  His face was of the grey of ashes, and he looked once round on us all with a still, appalling glance that silenced the words on my lips.

We sat without speech—­Obstinate yawning, Atheist smiling lightly, Superstition nibbling his nails, Reverie with chin drawn a little back, Pliable bolt upright, like a green and white wand, Mistrust blinking his little thin lids; but all with eyes fixed on this stranger, who deemed himself, it seemed, among friends.

He turned his back on us and sipped his drink under the heedless, deep, untroubled gaze of Mrs. Nature, and passed out softly and harmlessly as he had come in.

Reverie stood up like a man surprised and ill at ease.  He turned to me.  “I know him only by repute, by hearsay,” he said with an effort.  “He is a stranger to us all, indeed, sir—­to all.”

Obstinate, with a very flushed face, thrust his hand into his breeches’ pocket.  “Nay, sir,” he said, “my purse is yet here.  What more would you have?”

At which Pliable laughed, turning to the women.

I put on my hat and followed Reverie to the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, “but I have no desire to stay in this house over-night.  And if you would kindly direct me to the nearest way out of the village, I will have my horse saddled now and be off.”

And then I noticed that Superstition stood in the light of the doorway looking down on us.

“There’s Christian’s way,” he said, as if involuntarily....

“Lodge with me to-night,” Reverie answered, “and in the morning you shall choose which way to go you will.”

I thanked him heartily and turned in to find Rosinante.

The night was now fine, but moist and sultry, and misty in the distance.  It was late, too, for few candles gleamed beneath the moonlight from the windows round about the smooth village-green.  Even as we set out, I leading Rosinante by her bridle, and Superstition on my left hand, out of heavenly Leo a bright star wheeled, fading as it fell.  And soon high hedges hid utterly the “World’s End” behind us, out of sight and sound.