Майн Рид
No Quarter!

Chapter Ten
The Cousins

The sun had set as Reginald Trevor rode out of Hollymead Park. But he did not intend returning to Lydney that night; instead, purposed passing it in Ross, to which town he had also an errand. By making free use of the spur he might still reach his destination within the twilight.

Outside the park gate he was about turning in the Ross direction when he saw a party on horseback advancing from the opposite, as he had himself come. Four there were – two gentlemen in front, with their respective attendants a little behind. He could have shunned them by riding rapidly on before; but from the stylish appearance of one of the gentlemen he took it they were Cavaliers, possibly might be acquaintances; and after his long, lonely ride he was in the humour for company. It might help him some little to get over his chagrin. So he drew rein, and sate in his saddle waiting for them to come up.

There was a wide sweep of grass-grown turf between the park gate and the public road, and he had halted at the end of it on the right. Soon the party approaching reached the other, and he saw, with some surprise, and a little vexation, their horses’ heads being turned in towards the gate. Whoever the gentlemen might be, they were evidently bent upon a visit to the house that had refused hospitality to himself.

With something more than curiosity he scanned them now. Were they known to him? Yes! one was; his surprise becoming astonishment, as in the more showily-attired of the two gentlemen he recognised his cousin Eustace.

“You, Eust!” he exclaimed, drawing his horse round, and trotting towards his kinsman; his glance given to the other being as that to a stranger; for he was not acquainted with Sir Richard Walwyn.

“You, Rej!” was the all-but echo of a response, and the cousins came together, Sir Richard passing on into the park. The gentleman tax-gatherer, still smarting under the rebuff given him, the smart shared by his servant, had ill-manneredly left the gate open behind them.

It was months since the cousins had met; though each knew where the other was, or ought to be. Hence Reginald’s surprise to see Eustace there, supposing him to be engaged in his duties at Court. He spoke it inquiringly, as they held out to shake hands; but, before the other could make answer, he saw that which gave him a start – blood upon the hand extended to him! The white buckskin glove was reddened with it all over up to the gauntlets.

“God bless me, Eust! what’s this? A wound! Have you been quarrelling?”

“Oh! nothing much. Only a little prick in the wrist.”

“Prick in the wrist! But from what?”

“The point of a rapier.”

“The deuce! Then you have been quarrelling. With whom, pray?”

“Speak a little lower, Rej. I’d rather he didn’t hear us.”

And Eustace nodded towards Sir Richard, who was not yet quite beyond earshot.

“Surely you don’t mean the affair was with him?”

“I do – it was.”

“He got the better of you?”

“Quick as you could count ten.”

“Zounds! that’s strange – you such a swordsman! But still stranger what I see now, your being in his company. Not his prisoner, are you?”

“Well, in a way I am.”

“In that case, cousin, my sword’s at your service. So let me try conclusions with him. Possibly, I may get you a revanche; at the same time release you from any parole you may be under.”

Though, but the moment before, some little cowed, and declining a combat with serving men, Reginald Trevor was all courage now; and feared not to meet a gentleman in fair fight. For he saw that Trevor blood had been spilt, and, although he and his cousin Eustace had never been bosom friends, they were yet of the same family. The hot Cymric blood that ran in the veins of both boiled up in his to avenge whatever defeat his kinsman might have sustained, and without awaiting answer he asked impatiently, —

“Shall I follow, and flout him, Eust? I will if you but say the word.”

“No, Rej; nothing of the sort. Thank you all the same.”

“Well; if you’re against it, I won’t. But it edges a Trevor’s teeth to see one of his kin – full cousin, too – worsted, conquered, dead – down as you seem to be. All, I suppose, from your antagonist being a bit bigger and older than you are. He’s that as regards myself; for all I’ve no fear to face him.”

“I know you haven’t, Rej. But don’t be angry with me for saying, if you did, it would end as it has with me – maybe worse.”

The ci-devant gentleman-usher spoke with some pique. Notwithstanding the generous offer of his cousin to espouse his quarrel, there was that in the proposal itself which seemed to reflect on his own capability – a suggestion, almost an assertion, of patronising superiority.

“What do you mean, Eustace?” asked the other, looking a little roughed.

“That yonder gentleman,” he nodded towards Sir Richard, now well out of hearing, “is a perfect master of both sword and horse. He proved himself my master in less than five minutes after engaging; could have thrust me in as many seconds had he been so disposed. While fighting with him I felt a very child in his hands; and he, as I now chance to know, was but playing with me. In the end he disarmed me – could have done it long before – by this touch in the wrist, which sent my rapier spinning off into the air. That isn’t all. He has disarmed me in another sense; changed me from angry foe to, I might almost say, friend. That’s why I’ve told you that I’m in a way his prisoner.”

“It’s a strange tale,” rejoined Reginald, choking down his wrath. “All that, by sun, moon, and stars! But I won’t question you further about it; only tell me why you are here. I thought you were so fixed in the Palace of Westminster, such a favourite of the grand lady who there rules the mart, you’d never more care to breathe a breath of country air. Yet here I find you in the Forest of Dean – its very heart – far away from court and city life as man could well get within England’s realm. How has it come about, cousin?”

“I wouldn’t mind telling you, Rej, if there was time. But there isn’t. As you see, Sir Richard is waiting for me.”

“Sir Richard who?”

“Walwyn.”

“Oh, that’s the name of your generous conqueror?”

“It is.”

“I’ve heard of the individual, though never saw him till now. But how fell you into his company, and what brought about your quarrel?”

“Leave it, Rej, like other matters, till we meet again, and have more time to talk over such things.”

“Agreed. Still there’s time to say why you are going to Hollymead House.”

“Hollymead House?”

“Oh, you didn’t know that was the name of Ambrose Powell’s place!”

“Ambrose Powell?”

“What! Nor yet the name of the man you’re about to pay visit to?”

“I confess I do not.”

“Nor anything else of him?”

“Nothing whatever.”

He was on the point of adding, “Only that I’ve been told something about a pair of pretty girls,” when it occurred to him he might be touching on a subject in which his cousin had a tender concern.

“’Pon my honour!” rejoined the latter, making an uphill attempt to laugh, “the tale grows stranger and stranger! You, of the King’s Household, on your way to make acquaintance – friendly, of course – with one of his Majesty’s greatest and most pronounced enemies – a man who hates King, Court, and Church; above all, bitter against your especial patroness, the Queen. I’ve heard him call her a Jezebel, with other opprobrious epithets.”

“Odd in you, Rej, such a devoted Royalist, to have listened calmly to all that?”

“I didn’t listen calmly; would have quickly stopped his seditious chattering, but for – ”

“For what?” asked the other, seeing he hesitated.

“Oh, certain reasons I may some day make known to you. Like yourself, Eust, I have some secrets.”

Eust thought he could give a good guess at one of them, but mercifully forbore allusion to it.

“But,” he said, with an air of pretended surprise, “you’ve been just visiting this terrible king-hater yourself, Rej? If I mistake not, you came out of the park. You were up to the house, were you not?”

“I was.”

“And has it shaken your loyalty, or in any way weakened it?”

“On the contrary, strengthened it. My errand to Ambrose Powell, with the reception he vouchsafed me – the ill-grained curmudgeon – has had all that effect.”

“Then you’ve been quarrelling, too! Have you any objection to tell me what about?”

“Not the slightest. I was the bearer of a letter of Privy Seal to him – for a loan. Sir John Wintour, as you may be aware, has been appointed one of the King’s Commissioners of Array for West Gloucestershire and the Forest. You know I’m in his service, which will make the matter understandable to you.”

“And you haven’t got the money? I needn’t ask; there’s the signs of refusal in your face.”

“Got the money! Zounds! no. Instead, the recusant tore the letter into shreds, and flung them at his feet; defying me, Sir John, King, and all! Ah! well; that won’t be the end of it. I shall be sure of having occasion to visit Hollymead again, and ere long! Next time the tables will be turned. But, cousin, after hearing what I’ve told you, are you still in the mind to go on to that seditious den? If you take my advice, you’ll turn your back on Hollymead House, and come along with me. I’m making for Ross.”

“To take your advice, Rej, would be to do as rude a thing as a man well could – ruder than I ever did in my life. Disloyal, too – doubly so; I should be traitor to gratitude, as to courtesy. Indeed, I’ve trenched scandalously on good manners now, by keeping yonder gentleman so long waiting for me.”

He nodded towards Sir Richard, who had halted at some distance up the avenue.

“Oh, very well,” sneeringly rejoined Sir John Wintour’s emissary. “Of course, you can do as you like, Eust. I’m not your master, though yonder gentleman, as you call him, seems to be. Good-evening!”

And with this curt leave-taking, the sneer still on his face, he dug the spurs deep into his horse’s ribs, and went off at a gallop along the road for Ross.

Chapter Eleven
Three Curious Characters

“Yee-up, Jinkum! Yee-up!”

The exclamations were accompanied by the thwack of a stick over the hips of a donkey half-hidden under a pair of panniers.

“Don’t press the poor creetur, Jack. It be a hardish climb up the pitch. Gie’t its time.”

“But you know, Winny, the panners be most nigh empty – more’s the pity.”

“True o’ that. But consider how fur’s been the day. Seven mile to Monnerth – a good full load goin’ – an’ same back, whens we be home. An’t han’t had thing to eat, ’cept the pickin’s ’long the roadside.”

“All the more reezun for gittin’ ’im soon home. I’d lay wager, if the anymal kud speak, ’t ’ud say the same.”

“Might. But, for all that, him’s rightdown tired. If him want, there wud be no need yer slappin’ he. Don’t slap him any more, Jack.”

“Well, I won’t. Yee-up, Jinkum! I ’ant a-goin’ to gi’ ye the stick agen. ’Nother mile, and ye’ll be back to yer own bit o’ paster in the ole orchart, whar the grass’ll be up to yer ears. Yee-up!”

At which Jinkum, as though comprehending the merciful disposition towards him, and grateful for it, seemed to improve his pace.

The speakers were a man and woman, both of uncommon appearance – the man a diminutive specimen of humanity, who walked with a jerking gait, due to his having a wooden leg. The woman was taller than he, by the head and shoulders quite; while in every other way above the usual dimensions of her sex. Of a somewhat masculine aspect, she was withal far from ill-favoured – rather the contrary. Her gown of coarse homespun, dust-stained and délabré, could not conceal a voluptuous outline of figure; while to have her eyes and hair many a queen would have been glad to give the costliest jewel in her crown. The complexion was dark, the features of a gipsy type – though she was not one – the hair, a very hatful, carelessly coiled around her head, black as the wing of a crow. The first thought of one beholding her would be: “What a woman, if but washed and becomingly clad?” For both skin and dress showed something more than the dust that day caught up from the road – smouches of older date. Despite all, she was a grand, imposing personage; of tireless strength, too, as evinced by her easy, elastic step while breasting that steep pitch on her twenty-second mile since morning. The journey seemed to have had little effect on her, however it may have jaded Jinkum.

Notwithstanding the disparity in size between the man and woman – a good deal also in their age, he being much her senior – they bore a certain resemblance to one another. It lay in their features and complexion; Jack having a gipsyish look, too. Nor any wonder at their being some little alike, since they were not man and wife, but brother and sister – both born Foresters. There was nothing in the character of either at all disreputable, though their business was such as usually brings suspicion on those who follow it. Known all over the forest, and for miles around it, as cadgers, they trafficked in every conceivable thing by which an honest penny might be made, though their speciality was the transport of fowls, with other products of the farmyard, to the markets of Ross and Monmouth – generally on freight account – taking back such parcels as they could pick up. Ruardean was their port of departure and return; their home, when they were at home, being a cottage in the outskirts of that elevated village.

Rarely, if ever, were “Jerky Jack” – the soubriquet his gait had gained for him – and his big sister seen apart; Winny, or Winifred – for such was her baptismal name – being a valuable helpmate to him. Some said she was more – his master.

That day they had been to Monmouth market, and now, at a late hour of the evening – after sunset – they were climbing Cat’s Hill on their return homeward. As already said, there was then no Kerne bridge, and they had crossed by the ferry at Goodrich; a roundabout way to where they now were, but unavoidable – making good the woman’s estimate of the distance.

Up the remainder of the pitch, Jerky kept his word, and no more stick was administered to Jinkum. But before reaching the summit the tired animal was treated to a spell of rest, for which it might thank a man there met, or rather one who dropped upon them as from the clouds. For he had come slithering down a steep shelving bank that bordered the road, suddenly presenting himself to their view outside the selvage of bushes.

Notwithstanding his impromptu appearance, neither showed sign of alarm nor surprise. Evidently they expected him; for but the minute before a sound resembling the call of the green woodpecker – the “heekul,” as known to them – had reached their ears, causing them to turn their eyes toward the direction whence it came. From the wood, where, of course, they could see nothing; but there was a peculiarity in the intonation of the sound, telling them it proceeded not from the throat of a bird, but was in some way made by a man. That the woman knew how, and who the man, she gave evidence by saying, “That be Rob!” as she spoke a pleased expression coming over her countenance.

Whether Rob or no, he who so mysteriously and fantastically presented himself to their notice was a man of aspect remarkable as either of them. In size a Colossus; dark-complexioned like themselves, with full beard, and thick shock of brown-black hair standing out around his neck in curls and tangles. His coat of bottle-green cloth – amply skirted – and red plush waistcoat, showed creased and frowsy, as if he had passed the previous night, and many preceding it, in a shed or under a tree. For all, there was something majestic in his mien, just as with the woman – a savage grandeur independent of garb, which could assert itself under a drapery of rags.

As the three came together, he was the first to speak, more particularly addressing himself to Jerky. For the sister had a little side business to transact, plunging her hand into one of the panniers, and bringing forth a basket, out of which the neck of a bottle protruded.

“Well, Jack! What’s the news down Monnerth way?” was the commencement of the colloquy.

“Lots, Rob; ’nough if they were wrote out on paper to fill them panners, an’ load the donkey down.”

Jinkum’s owner was of a humorous turn, and dealt in figures of speech, often odd and varied as his bills of lading.

“Tell us some o’ ’em,” requested Rob, placing himself in an attitude to listen.

“Well,” proceeded the cadger, “it be most all ’bout politicks there now, wi’ rumours o’ war, they say be a brewin’. The market war full o’ them rough ’uns from Raglan side, Lord Worster’s people, bullyin’ everybody an’ threetenin’ all as wudn’t cry out for the King.”

“Ay;” here interposed the big sister, with a sneer, “an’ you cried it, Jack – shouted till I was afeerd you’d split yer windpipe. That ye did!”

“And if I did,” rejoined Jack, excusing himself, “how war I to help it? If I hadn’t they’d a throttled me; may-be pulled off my wooden leg, and smashed my skull wi’t. An’ ye know that, Winny. A man who’d a said word there favour o’ the Parlyment wud a stud good chance o’ gettin’ tore limb fro’ limb. Tho’ I han’t two for ’em to tear sunderwise, I wasn’t the fool to go buttin my head ’gainst a wall when no good could come o’t. If I did cry ‘Long live the King!’ I thinked the contrary, as Rob knows I do.”

“That do I, Jack, right well. A true free-born Forester, as myself, I know you ha’ no leanin’ like as them o’ Monnerth and Lydney; Royalists an’ Papists, who want to make slaves o’ us, both body and soul, an’ keep us toilin’ for them an’ their fine-dressed favourites – devil burn ’em!”

Having thus delivered himself, the free-born Forester dropped conversation with Jerky, confining it to the sister. For which Jack gave them an opportunity, shrewdly guessing it was desired. Once more saluting Jinkum with a “yee-up!” he started the animal off again up the hill, himself stumping briskly after.

Chapter Twelve
A Combat in a Quarry

The man and woman left behind, as they stood vis-à-vis, presented a striking appearance. Such a pair in juxtaposition were a sight not often given to the eye. He some inches the taller – though well matched as regarded the distinction of the sexes; but both of towering stature, with air so commanding that one, who could have seen them there and then, would not have given a thought to the coarseness of their apparel, or, if so, instantly forgetting it. Looking at their faces, in their eyes as they met in mutual gaze, he would have noticed something of a nature to interest more than any quality or fashion of dress – the light of love. For they loved one another warmly, and, perhaps, as purely and tenderly, as if their hearts had been beating under robes of silk.

No words of love passed between them now. If they intended speaking such, they held them in reserve till matters more pressing should be disposed of.

Upon these the man entered at once, asking, —

“Heerd you anythin’ ’bout me, Win?”

“Yes, Rob.”

“What?”

“They have been wonderin’ how ye managed to get out o’t gaol, an’ blame Will Morgan for lendin’ ye a hand. Day afore yesterday a party came over from Lydney wi’ that young officer as be wi’ Sir John Winter – Trevor I think they call him.”

“Yes; that’s the name. I know him well enough – too well. ’Twas he as took me in the High Meadows.”

“Oh! it was. Well; he hev taked Will, too, an’ carried him away to Lydney, where Sir John ha’ now got a gaol o’ his own. There wor some trouble ’bout it; the Lord Herbert, who’s governor at Monnerth, claimin’ him as his prisoner. But the other sayed as yours wor a case o’ deer-stealin’ in the Forest, an’ Will had helped, ye ought both be taken before Sir John an’ tried by him, he bein’ head man o’ it. Then Lord Herbert gave in, an’ let them take him off. Will did help ye a bit, didn’t he?”

“More’n a bit. But for him, liker than not, I’d now be in theer lock-up at Lydney. Well, if he be goed there he mayn’t ha’ so long to stay as they think for – won’t, if what I’ve heerd be true.”

“What’s ye heerd, Rob?”

“Some news as ha’ just come down from Lunnun. It’s sayed the King’s been chased out o’t, an’ the Parlyment be now havin’ it all theer own way. Supposin’ that’s the case, Sir John Winter won’t hae it all his own way much longer. We Foresters’ll deal wi’ him diff’rent from what we’ve been a doin’. An’ ’bout that I ha’ got word o’ somethin’ else.”

“What somethin’?”

“A man, they say’s comin’ down here – from Lunnun too. One o’ the right sort – friend o’ the people. Besides, a soldier as ha’ seen foreign service, an’ is reckoned ’mong the best and kindest of men.”

“I think I know who ye mean, Rob. Ain’t it Sir Richard Walwyn?”

“That’s the man.”

“He wor at Hollymead fore he went away to the wars. I’ve seed him many’s the time. He used to often ride past our place, an’ always stopped to ha’ a word an’ a joke wi’ Jack. That makes me remember him; an’ if I beant mistook somebody else ha’ remembrance o’ him in a different way, an’ ain’t like ever to forget him.”

“Who?”

“One o’ the young ladies o’ Hollymead – the older ’un, Miss Sabrina. I ha’ heerd as much from the house sarvints theer.”

Just the shadow of a cloud had shown itself on Rob’s brow as Win commenced giving her reminiscences of the knight who had been visitor at Hollymead and used to crack jokes with Jerky. It passed off, however, ere her relation came to an end.

“Well, dear Win,” he said, speaking more tenderly from consciousness of having harboured an unjust suspicion; “they say Sir Richard be comin’ down to raise soldiers for the Parlyment. If that be so, one o’ the first to join him’ll be Rob Wilde; an’ maybe the biggest, if not best, in the fightin’ line.”

“You’ll be the best, Rob; I know you will. Who could equal you?”

At which she threw open her arms, then closed them around his neck, covering him with kisses.

In all probability, many soft words and much tender concourse would have succeeded this outburst of admiration. But the opportunity was not allowed them. Just then they heard a clattering of hoofs, horsemen coming down the road from Ruardean, at a gallop.

Rob, setting his ears to listen, could tell there were two of them, but nothing more – nothing to admonish him whether they were friends or enemies. But with the consciousness of having stolen deer and broken jail, twenty to one on their being the latter, reflected he. In any case prudence counselled him hiding himself, and letting the horsemen pass on.

His first impulse was to spring back up the bank, leaving the woman in the road. They could have nothing against her, whoever they were. But they were near now, still riding rapidly, and before he could scramble to the summit of the slope would be sure to see him. Just then, a hiding-place handier, and more easily accessible, came under his eye; a break in the bank just opposite, which he knew to be the entrance to an old limestone quarry, long abandoned. He would be safe enough in there, at least from observation by any one passing down the road. Whether or no, it was now Hobson’s choice with him; the trampling was louder and clearer; and but for an abrupt bend of the road above he could have seen the horsemen, as they him. No alternative, therefore, but to cut into the quarry; which he did – the woman with him.

Scarce were they well inside it, when the hoof-strokes ceased to be heard. The horses had been suddenly pulled up; a colloquy ensuing.

“Hullo, Jerky!” it begun. “On your way from Monmouth market, I suppose?”

“Yes, yer honour; jist that.”

“But where’s your big sister? I’ve met you scores of times along the roads, though never without her. I hope there’s nothing amiss?”

“Oh! nothin’, sir. She be wi’ me now, close by, coming up the pitch, only ha’ legged a bit behint.”

“Well, Jack, I won’t detain you; as I must not be lagging myself. I want to reach Ross before the night’s on. Good-bye, old cadge!”

At which the dialogue came to an end, and the hoof-strokes were again heard, now coming close.

Only for a minute or so, when a second colloquy was entered upon, this time one of the voices being different.

Rob Wilde knew them both; had long ago recognised the one that held speech with the cadger, and had reason to feel keenly apprehensive as he listened. Far more now, as the words of the later dialogue dropped upon his ears.

“Old Timber-toes said his sister was just behind. I don’t see anything of her; and certainly she’s not one there should be any difficulty in making out – even at a league’s distance. Hey! what the deuce is that?”

And Reginald Trevor again reined up. For it was he, with his servant.

“A basket, it appears to be, Captain,” answered the man, “with a bottle in it. Yes,” he added, after drawing closer, lifting it from the ledge, and peering into it. “Something besides the bottle – bread, cheese, and bacon.”

“Where there’s so much smoke there should be some fire,” reflected his master, who had halted in the middle of the road. Then, thinking it odd he saw nothing of the cadger’s sister, and noticing the gap leading into the quarry, it occurred to him she might be there. Partly out of curiosity, and partly from an intuition, which the basket of provisions had done something to inspire, he headed his horse at the opening and rode in.

Soon as inside, an exclamation rose to his lips, in tone which told of more than surprise. There was triumph, exultation, in it. For there saw he, not only the woman missing from the road, but a man, the same who had been for some time missing from Monmouth Gaol. The bushes in the old quarry were not thick enough, nor tall enough, to give either of them concealment; and they were standing erect, without further attempt at seeking it.

“Ho – ho! my giant,” cried the officer. “It’s here you are; making love to Jerky’s sister. And a pretty pair of love-birds too! Ha! ha! That explains the basket of eatables and drinkables. What a pity to interrupt your billing and cooing! But I must. So master Rob, deer-stealer and jail-breaker,” he added drawing his sword. “Come along with me! You needn’t trouble about bringing the basket. In the Lydney lock-up I’ll see to your being fed free of expense.”

“When you get me there,” rejoined Rob, in defiant tone, as he spoke pulling from under the breast of his doublet a long-bladed knife, and setting himself firm for defence.

This was unexpected by the King’s officer, who had not thought or dreamt of resistance. It was there, however, in sure, stern shape, and he felt himself committed to overcoming it. With a prick of his spur he sprang his horse forward, and straight at Rob, as though he would ride over him, his sword held ready for either cut or thrust.

But neither gave he, nor could. As the horse’s head came close to him, the Colossus lunged out with long arm, and sent the point of his knife into the animal’s nostrils, which caused it to rear up and round, squealing with pain. This brought its rider’s back towards the man who had pricked it; and before he could wheel again, Reginald Trevor was in the embrace of him he had jokingly called giant – realising that he had the strength of one, as he was himself dragged out of his saddle.

But they were not the only combatants in the quarry. For, following his master, the servant had made to assist him in his assault against the big man, taking no note of the big woman, or fancying she would not interfere. In which fancy he was sadly mistaken. For in scrimmage his back becoming turned upon her, as if taking pattern by Rob, she sprang up, caught hold of the lightweight groom, and jerked him to the ground, easily as she would have pulled a bantam cock from out one of the Jinkum’s panniers.

In less than threescore seconds after the affair began, Reginald Trevor and his attendant were unhorsed, disarmed, and held as in the hug of a couple of bears.

“I’ll let ye go,” said Rob to his prisoner, after some rough handling, “when ye say you won’t take advantage o’ my gen’rosity by renewin’ the attack. Bah!” he added, without waiting for response, “I’ll put that out o’ yer power.”

Saying which, he caught up the officer’s sword, and broke it across his knee, at the same time releasing him. The blade of the attendant was treated likewise, and both master and man were permitted to rise to their feet, feeling vanquished as weaponless.

“You can take yourselves off,” sneeringly said the deer-stealer; “an’ as ye talked ’bout bein’ in Ross ’fore nightfall, you’ll do well to make quick time.”

Not a word spoke Reginald Trevor in reply, nor thanks for the mercy shown him. Too angry was he for that; his anger holding him speechless because of its very impotence. In sullen silence he regained the bridle of his horse – like himself having lost spirit by copious bleeding of the nose – climbed back into the saddle, and continued on down Cat’s Hill, his varlet behind him, both swordless, and yet more crestfallen than when they rode out through the gate of Hollymead Park.

“We’re in for it now, Win,” said Rob, to the cadger’s sister, after seeing them depart. “An’ we’ve got to look out for danger. I’m sorry ’bout you havin’ to share it; but maybe ’twon’t be so much, after all. Once Sir Richard gets here, an’ the fightin’ begins, as it surely must soon, trust me for takin’ care o’ ye.”

“I will – I do, Rob!”

And again the great arms were thrown around his neck, while upon his lips were showered a very avalanche of kisses.