A momentary regret of his treatment of the boy stirred in him.

Master Stewart might be a milksop, but Crispin accounted him leastways honest, and had a kindness for him in spite of all.

He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he leaned out, as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the refrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance listeners.
For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the occasion to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were alert for the least movement among the shadows of the street.

Reassured at last that the house was no longer being watched, he drew back, and closed the lattice.
Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his bed, awaiting him.
"Soul of my body!" cried Hogan ruefully, "I was never nearer being afraid in my life." Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale of what had passed.
"Tis simple enough, faith," said Hogan coolly.

"The landlord of The Angel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his inn--who owns a pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a man saw perdition in.