The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. Accordingly, he was introduced to the two military aspirants at the Cross Shovels in the Mint, by our old acquaintance, Baptist Kettleby. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones.
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