Reaching the stable, he took the bridles from the horses, and called to
the hostler to give them some oats.
"Sure," said the hostler, peering at him closely, "I know your face."
This was none too pleasant a greeting for the disguised prince, but he
put on a serene countenance, and asked the man whether he had always
lived at that place.
"No," said the hostler. "I was born in Exeter, and was hostler in an inn
there near Mr. Potter's, a great merchant of that town."
"Then you must have seen me at Mr. Potter's," said Charles. "I lived
with him over a year."
"That is it," answered the hostler. "I remember you a boy there. Let us
go drink a pot of beer on it."
Charles excused himself, saying that he must go look after his master's
dinner, and he lost little time in getting out of that town, lest some
one else might have as inconvenient and less doubtful a memory.
While the prince was flying, his foes were pursuing. The fact that the
royal army was scattered was not enough for the politic mind of
Cromwell. Its leader was still at large, somewhere in England; while he
remained free all was at risk. Those turbulent Scotch might be again
raised. A new Dunbar or Worcester might be fought, with different
fortune.
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