Order a couple of fleet horses to be waiting in an hour from now: that will give us plenty of time to reach Nieupoort, and take a night's rest before sailing to-morrow.

Here, kick off those clumsy boots and take mine; also my cloak here, and sword.
Your breeches and stockings will do.

Afterwards you can stroll out into the town, if you will, and purchase a keepsake for Sophia.
I, myself, will buy a ring at Nieupoort for you to fit upon her pretty finger, if you succeed in tricking the folk below-stairs.
Farewell, my son, and God bless you!--only, be back within the hour." As the door closed upon Tristram, Captain Salt advanced to the keyhole and listened.
"A sound skin," he muttered to himself, "is better than a dull son.
Moreover, at the worst he'll be taken back to The Hague, and there the Earl will keep him from me." He examined his pistols for a moment, opened the door softly, and, creeping out on the landing, began to listen with all his ears.
Meanwhile our hero marched downstairs, and, encountering the waitress in the passage below, gave the order for the horses.

The waitress summoned a lethargic, round-bellied man from an inner parlour, who bowed as well as his waist would let him, and straddled out to the stables to repeat the order.

Somewhat pleased to find he had not been recognised, Tristram sauntered up the dusky passage and forth at the front-door.