e bridle; and besides," Henry
continued, with a smile, which even his compassion could not suppress,
"I thought you would have accused me of diminishing your honour, if I
brought you aid against a single man. But cheer up! the villain took
foul odds of you, your horse not being well at command."

"That is true--that is true," said Oliver, eagerly catching at the
apology.

"And yonder stands the faitour, rejoicing at the mischief he has done,
and triumphing in your overthrow, like the king in the romance, who
played upon the fiddle whilst a city was burning. Come thou with me, and
thou shalt see how we will handle him. Nay, fear not that I will desert
thee this time."

So saying, he caught Jezabel by the rein, and galloping alongside of
her, without giving Oliver time to express a negative, he rushed towards
the Devil's Dick, who had halted on the top of a rising ground at some
distance. The gentle Johnstone, however, either that he thought the
contest unequal, or that he had fought enough for the day, snapping his
fingers and throwing his hand out with an air of defiance, spurred his
horse into a neighbouring bog, through which he seemed to flutter like
a wild duck, swinging his lure round his head, and whistling to his hawk
all the while, though any other horse and rider must have been instantly
bogged up to the saddle girths.

"There goes a thoroughbred moss trooper," said the smith. "That fellow
will fight or flee as suits his humor, and there is no use to pursue
him, any more than to hunt a wild goose. He has got your purse, I doubt
me, for they seldom leave off till they are full handed."

"Ye--ye--yes," said Proudfute, in a melancholy tone, "he has got my
purse; but there is less matter since he hath left the hawking bag."

"Nay, the hawking bag had been an emblem of personal victory, to be
sure--a trophy, as the minstrels call it."

"There is more in it than that, friend," said Oliver, significantly.

"Why, that is well, neighbour: I love to hear you speak in your own
scholarly tone again. Cheer up, you have seen the villain's back, and
regained the trophies you had lost when taken at advantage."

"Ah, Henry Gow--Henry Gow--" said the bonnet maker, and stopped short
with a deep sigh, nearly amounting to a groan.

"What is the matter?" asked his friend--"what is it you vex yourself
about now?"

"I have some suspicion, my dearest friend, Henry Smith, that the villain
fled for fear of you, not of me."