after me his proposition
to trade horses, and even offering ten pounds to boot when he saw
the splendid long pace of my thoroughbred flinging out his legs with
that freest motion of anything in the world, unless it be the swift
upward cleave of a bird when the fluttering of wing wherewith he
hath gained his impetus hath ceased, and nothing except that
invincible rising is seen.

XIV

The first man my eyes fell upon was Parson Downs, lolling in a chair
by the fireless hearth, for there was no call for fire that May
night. His bulk of body swept in a vast curve from his triple chin
to the floor, and his great rosy face was so exaggerated with
merriment and good cheer that it looked like one seen in the shining
swell of a silver tankard. When Nick Barry finished a roaring song,
he stamped and clapped and shouted applause till it set off the
others with applause of it, and the place was a pandemonium. Then
that same coloured woman who had parleyed with me the other day, and
was that night glowing like a savage princess--as in truth she
may have been, for she had a high look as of an unquenched spirit,
in spite of her degradation of body and estate--went about with
a free swinging motion of hips, bearing a tray filled with pewter
mugs of strong spirits. Around this woman's neck glittered row on
row of beads, and she wore a great flame-coloured turban, and long
gold eardrops dangled to her shoulders against the glossy blackness
of her cheeks, and bracelets tinkled on her polished arms, which
were mighty shapely, though black. In faith, the wench, had she but
possessed roses and lilies for her painting, instead of that
duskiness as of the cheek of midnight, had been a beauty such as was
seldom seen. Her dark face was instinct with mirth and jollity, and,
withal, a fierce spark in the whitening roll of her eyes under her
flame-coloured turban made one think of a tiger-cat, and roused that
knowledge of danger which adds a tingle to interest. A man could
scarce take his eyes from her, though there were other women there
and not uncomely ones. Another black wench there was, clad as gayly,
but sunk in a languorous calm like a great cat, with Nick Barry, now
his song was done, lolling against her, and two white women, one
young and well favoured, and the other harshly handsome, both with
their husbands present, and I doubt not decent women enough, though
something violent of temper. As I entered, Mistress Allgood, one of