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MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE FEARS FOR THE SPIRITUAL WEAL OF HIS.
HOST AND HOSTESS.
Before the hour of supper, which was served at six o'clock, Nicholas Alwyn arrived at the house indicated to him by Madge.

Marmaduke, after a sound sleep, which was little flattering to Sibyll's attractions, had descended to the hall in search of the maiden and his host, and finding no one, had sauntered in extreme weariness and impatience into the little withdrawing-closet, where as it was now dusk, burned a single candle in a melancholy and rustic sconce; standing by the door that opened on the garden, he amused himself with watching the peacock, when his friend, following Madge into the chamber, tapped him on the shoulder.
"Well, Master Nevile.

Ha! by Saint Thomas, what has chanced to thee?
Thine arm swathed up, thy locks shorn, thy face blanched! My honoured foster-brother, thy Westmoreland blood seems over-hot for Cockaigne!" "If so, there are plenty in this city of cut-throats to let out the surplusage," returned Marmaduke; and he briefly related his adventure to Nicholas.
When he had done, the kind trader reproached himself for having suffered Marmaduke to find his way alone.

"The suburbs abound with these miscreants," said he; "and there is more danger in a night walk near London than in the loneliest glens of green Sherwood--more shame to the city! An' I be Lord Mayor one of these days, I will look to it better.
But our civil wars make men hold human life very cheap, and there's parlous little care from the great of the blood and limbs of the wayfarers.