.

THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE.
In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old fellow-roysterer.
"Oddslife," he growled, "if to have me waylaid, dragged from my horse and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be your manner of expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me go unthanked." "And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another hour is sped.

Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters yonder--" Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the black jack and poured half a glass of its contents, which he handed Crispin.
"Drink, man," he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, obeyed him.
Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's back, pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit.

Again, nothing loath, Crispin did as he was bidden.

He was stiff from long riding, and so with a sigh of satisfaction he settled himself down and stretched out his long legs.
Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed.