"I think I see'd my Lord Antony's horse out in the yard, father," she said, as she ran across the coffee-room.
But already the door had been thrown open from outside, and the next moment an arm, covered in drab cloth and dripping with the heavy rain, was round pretty Sally's waist, while a hearty voice echoed along the polished rafters of the coffee-room.
"Aye, and bless your brown eyes for being so sharp, my pretty Sally," said the man who had just entered, whilst worthy Mr.Jellyband came bustling forward, eager, alert and fussy, as became the advent of one of the most favoured guests of his hostel.
"Lud, I protest, Sally," added Lord Antony, as he deposited a kiss on Miss Sally's blooming cheeks, "but you are growing prettier and prettier every time I see you--and my honest friend, Jellyband here, have hard work to keep the fellows off that slim waist of yours.

What say you, Mr.
Waite ?" Mr.Waite--torn between his respect for my lord and his dislike of that particular type of joke--only replied with a doubtful grunt.
Lord Antony Dewhurst, one of the sons of the Duke of Exeter, was in those days a very perfect type of a young English gentlemen--tall, well set-up, broad of shoulders and merry of face, his laughter rang loudly wherever he went.

A good sportsman, a lively companion, a courteous, well-bred man of the world, with not too much brains to spoil his temper, he was a universal favourite in London drawing-rooms or in the coffee-rooms of village inns.

At "The Fisherman's Rest" everyone knew him--for he was fond of a trip across to France, and always spent a night under worthy Mr.Jellyband's roof on his way there or back.
He nodded to Waite, Pitkin and the others as he at last released Sally's waist, and crossed over to the hearth to warm and dry himself: as he did so, he cast a quick, somewhat suspicious glance at the two strangers, who had quietly resumed their game of dominoes, and for a moment a look of deep earnestness, even of anxiety, clouded his jovial young face.
But only for a moment; the next he turned to Mr.Hempseed, who was respectfully touching his forelock.
"Well, Mr.Hempseed, and how is the fruit ?" "Badly, my lord, badly," replied Mr.Hempseed, dolefully, "but what can you 'xpect with this 'ere government favourin' them rascals over in France, who would murder their king and all their nobility." "Odd's life!" retorted Lord Antony; "so they would, honest Hempseed,--at least those they can get hold of, worse luck! But we have got some friends coming here to-night, who at any rate have evaded their clutches." It almost seemed, when the young man said these words, as if he threw a defiant look towards the quiet strangers in the corner.
"Thanks to you, my lord, and to your friends, so I've heard it said," said Mr.Jellyband.
But in a moment Lord Antony's hand fell warningly on mine host's arm.
"Hush!" he said peremptorily, and instinctively once again looked towards the strangers.
"Oh! Lud love you, they are all right, my lord," retorted Jellyband; "don't you be afraid.

I wouldn't have spoken, only I knew we were among friends.