Albert with difficulty assisted the man to the entrance of the hostelry,
for at each step he leant more heavily upon him. The door was shut, but
the light from the casement showed that those within had not yet retired
to bed. Edgar struck on the door loudly with the handle of his dagger.

"Who is it that knocks?"

"Gentlemen, with a wounded man, who, with his daughter, have been beset by
knaves within a hundred yards of your door."

Some bolts were undrawn after some little delay, and a man appeared,
having a sword in his hand, with two servitors behind him similarly armed.

"We are quiet people, my host," Edgar said. "Stand not on questioning.
Suffice that there is a wounded man who is spent from loss of blood, and a
young maid who has swooned from terror."

There was a tone of command in Edgar's voice, and the host, seeing that he
had to do with persons of quality, murmured excuses on the ground that the
neighbourhood was a rough one.

"You need hardly have told us that," Edgar said. "Our plight speaks for
itself. Call your wife, I pray you, or female servants; they will know
what to do to bring the young maid to herself. But tell her to let the
girl know as soon as she opens her eyes that her father is alive, and is,
I trust, not seriously wounded."

The landlord called, and a buxom woman came out from a room behind. Her
husband hastily told her what was required.