Which Gives Some Account of the Worst Place in the World

Now as he leaned there, with his earnest gaze bent ever across the
River, Barnabas sighed, bethinking him of clean, white, country roads,
of murmuring brooks and rills, of the cool green shades of dewy
woods full of the fragrance of hidden flower and herb and sweet,
moist earth. But most of all he bethought him of a certain wayside
inn, an ancient inn of many gables, above whose hospitable door
swung a sign whereon a weather-beaten hound, dim-legged and faded of
tail, pursued a misty blur that by common report was held to be hare;
a comfortable, homely inn of no especial importance perhaps, yet the
very best inn to be found in all broad England, none the less. And,
as he thought, a sudden, great yearning came upon Barnabas and,
leaning his face between his hands, he said within himself: "'I will arise, and go to my father!'"

But little by little he became aware that the clamor below had
ceased and, glancing down into the court, beheld two men in red
waistcoats, large men, bewhiskered men and square of elbow.
Important men were these, at sight of whom the ragged children stood
awed and silent and round of eye, while the gossiping women drew
back to give them way. Yes, men of consequence they were, beyond a
doubt, and Barnabas noticed that they also stared very often at a
certain window a little further up the court and from it to a third
man who limped along close behind them by means of a very nobbly
stick; a shortish, broadish, mild-looking man whose face was hidden
beneath the shadow of the broad-brimmed hat. Nevertheless at sight
of this man Barnabas uttered an exclamation, drew in his head very
suddenly and thereafter stood, listening and expectant, his gaze on
the door like one who waits to meet the inevitable.