Yawning, Barnabas opened drowsy eyes, and saw that here and there
were houses in fair gardens, yet as they went the houses grew
thicker and the gardens more scant. And now Barnabas became aware of
a sound, soft with distance, that rose and fell--a never-ceasing
murmur; therefore, blinking drowsily at Mottle-face, he inquired
what this might be.
"That, sir, that's London, sir--cobble-stones, sir, cart-vheels, sir,
and--Lord love you!"--here Mottle-face leaned over and once more
winked his owl-like eye--"but 'e ain't mentioned the vord 'walise'
all night, sir--so 'elp me!" Having said which, Mottle-face vented a
throaty chuckle, and proceeded to touch up his horses.
And now as one in a dream, Barnabas is aware that they are threading
streets, broad streets and narrow, and all alive with great wagons
and country wains; on they go, past gloomy taverns, past churches
whose gilded weather-cocks glitter in the early sunbeams, past
crooked side-streets and dark alley-ways, and so, swinging suddenly
to the right, have pulled up at last in the yard of the "George."
It is a great inn with two galleries one above another and many
windows, and here, despite the early hour, a motley crowd is gathered.
Forthwith Barnabas climbs down, and edging his way through the throng,
presently finds Peterby at his elbow.
"Breakfast, sir?"
"Bed, Peterby."
"Very good--this way, sir."
Thereafter, though he scarcely knows how, he finds himself following
a trim-footed damsel, who, having shown him up a winding stair, worn
by the tread of countless travellers, brings him to a smallish,
dullish chamber, opening upon the lower gallery. Hereupon Barnabas
bids her "good night," but, blinking in the sunlight, gravely
changes it to "good morning." The trim-footed maid smiles, curtsies,
and vanishes, closing the door behind her.
Now upon the wall of the chamber, facing the bed, hangs the picture
of a gentleman in a military habit with an uncomfortably high stock.
He is an eagle-nosed gentleman with black whiskers, and a pair of
remarkably round wide-awake eyes, which stare at Barnabas as much as
to say-"And who the devil are you, sir?"
Below him his name and titles are set forth fully and with many
flourishes, thus-LIEUTENANT-GENERAL THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARL OF POMFROY,
K.G., K.T.S., etc., etc., etc.
So remarkably wide-awake is he, indeed, that it seems to drowsy
Barnabas as if these round eyes wait to catch him unawares and
follow him pertinaciously about the smallish, dullish chamber.
Nevertheless Barnabas yawns, and proceeds to undress, which done,
remembering he is in London, he takes purse and valuables and very
carefully sets them under his pillow, places Mr. Chichester's pistol
on the small table conveniently near, and gets into bed.
Yet now, sleepy though he is, he must needs turn to take another
look at the Honorable the Earl of Pomfroy, wonders idly what the
three "etc.'s" may mean, admires the glossy curl of his whiskers,
counts the medals and orders on his bulging breast, glances last of
all at his eyes, and immediately becomes aware that they are
curiously like those of the "White Lion" at Tenterden, in that they
are plying him with questions.