He knocked, and the landlady came.

She peered out to look for the cart that had brought the traveller; but Gregory's heart was brave now he was so near the quiet room.

He told her he had come with the transport wagons that stood outside the town.
He had walked in, and wanted lodgings for the night.
It was a deliberate lie, glibly told; he would have told fifty, though the recording angel had stood in the next room with his pen dipped in the ink.

What was it to him?
He remembered that she lay there saying always: "I am better." The landlady put his supper in the little parlour where he had sat in the morning.

When it was on the table she sat down in the rocking-chair, as her fashion was to knit and talk, that she might gather news for her customers in the taproom.