"Edward, I am glad to see you back.

Where have you been these many hours?
I have been watching and waiting, hoping you would come before nightfall.

I am very anxious.

I much fear that we are suspected--spied upon." "Nay, now, what makes you think that ?" asked young Edward, as he let himself be drawn within the small attic bedchamber in the river-side inn, which he and his comrade had shared ever since they had arrived in London; now some three weeks back.

Paul had closed the door before he began to speak, and now stood with his back against it, his face looking pale and anxious in the fading light of the winter's day.
"What makes me think it?
Why, more things than one; but mainly the fact that the peddler we bought our clothes of is here." Edward smiled and laid a hand on Paul's shoulder.
He was growing used to the anxieties of his elder comrade, who deeply felt his responsibility in having the heir of England under his care, and had begun to treat his words of warning with some lightness.
"And why should not the old man be here?
The world is as free to him as it is to us.