“Yeigh,” replied the hostess, “some on ‘en are i’ th’ house, some i’ th’ barn, an some i’ th’ stables.  The place is awtogether owerrun wi’ ’em.  Ey wur so moydert an wurrotit wi’ their ca’in an bawlin fo’ ele an drink, that ey swore they shouldna ha’ another drawp wi’ my consent; an, to be os good os my word, ey clapt key o’ t’ cellar i’ my pocket, an leavin’ our Margit to answer ’em, ey set out os yo see, intendin’ to go os far as t’ mill, an comfort poor deeavely Ruchot Baldwyn in his trouble.”

“A most praiseworthy resolution, Bess,” said the rector; “but what is to be done with this fellow?” he added, pointing to Blackadder, who, though badly hurt, was trying to creep towards the petronel, which was lying at a little distance from him on the ground.

Perceiving his intention, Bess quickly dismounted, and possessing herself of the weapon, stepped aside, and slipping off one of the bands that confined the hose on her well-shaped leg, grasped the wounded man by the shoulders, and with great expedition tied his hands behind his back.  She then lifted him up with as much ease as if he had been an infant, and set him upon his horse, with his face towards the tail.  This done, she gave the bridle to the rector, and handing him the petronel at the same time, told him to take care of his prisoner, for she must pursue her journey.  And with this, in spite of his renewed entreaties that she would go back with him, she sprang on her horse and rode off.

On arriving at Goldshaw with his prisoner, the rector at once proceeded to the hostel, in front of which he found several of the villagers assembled, attracted by the numerous company within doors, whose shouts and laughter could be heard at a considerable distance.  Holden’s appearance with Blackadder occasioned considerable surprise, and all eagerly gathered round him to learn what had occurred; but, without satisfying their curiosity, beyond telling them he had been attacked by the prisoner, he left him in their custody and entered the house, where he found all the benches in the principal room occupied by a crew of half-drunken roysterers, with flagons of ale before them; for, after Bess’s departure with the key, they had broken into the cellar, and, broaching a cask, helped themselves to its contents.  Various weapons were scattered about the tables or reared against the walls, and the whole scene looked like a carouse by a band of marauders.  Little respect was shown the rector, and he was saluted by many a ribald jest as he pushed his way towards the inner room.

Sir Thomas was drinking with a couple of desperadoes, whose long rapiers and tarnished military equipments seemed to announce that they had, at some time or other, belonged to the army, though their ruffianly looks and braggadocio air and discourse, strongly seasoned with oaths and slang, made it evident that they were now little better than Alsatian bullies.  They had, in fact, been hired by Sir Thomas for the