him that the Chronicle had
been written partly by the monks of Saint Albans and afterwards by those
of Peterborough, but the fellow sprang suddenly over a gate and
disappeared.

The village of Swinehurst is a straggling line of half-timbered houses of
the early English pattern. One of these houses stood, as I observed,
somewhat taller than the rest, and seeing by its appearance and by the
sign which hung before it that it was the village inn, I approached it,
for indeed I had not broken my fast since I had left London. A stoutish
man, five foot eight perhaps in height, with black coat and trousers of a
greyish shade, stood outside, and to him I talked in the fashion of the
master.

"Why a rose and why a crown?" I asked as I pointed upwards.

He looked at me in a strange manner. The man's whole appearance was
strange. "Why not?" he answered, and shrank a little backwards.

"The sign of a king," said I.

"Surely," said he. "What else should we understand from a crown?"

"And which king?" I asked.

"You will excuse me," said he, and tried to pass.

"Which king?" I repeated.

"How should I know?" he asked.

"You should know by the rose," said I, "which is the symbol of that Tudor-
ap-Tudor, who, coming from the mountains of Wales, yet seated his
posterity upon the English throne. Tudor," I continued, getting between
the stranger and the door of the inn, through which he appeared to be
desirous of passing, "was of the same blood as Owen Glendower, the famous
chieftain, who is by no means to be confused with Owen Gwynedd, the
father of Madoc of the Sea, of whom the bard made the famous cnylyn,
which runs in the Welsh as follows:--"

I was about to repeat the famous stanza of Dafydd-ap-Gwilyn when the man,
who had looked very fixedly and strangely at me as I spoke, pushed past
me and entered the inn. "Truly," said I aloud, "it is surely Swinehurst
to which I have come, since the same means the grove of the hogs." So
saying I followed the fellow into the bar parlour, where I perceived him
seated in a corner with a large chair in front of him. Four persons of
various degrees were drinking beer at a central table, whilst a small man
of active build, in a black, shiny suit, which seemed to have seen much
service, stood before the empty fireplace. Him I took to be the
landlord, and I asked him what I should have for my dinner.

He smiled, and said that he could not tell.

"But surely, my friend," said I,