atiently; "the day is already too short for our
journey. For the dog, I know it to be the cur of the runaway slave
Gurth, a useless fugitive like its master."

So saying and rising at the same time in his stirrups, impatient at the
interruption of his journey, he launched his [v]javelin at poor Fangs,
who, having lost his master, was now rejoicing at his reappearance. The
javelin inflicted a wound upon the animal's shoulder and narrowly missed
pinning him to the earth; Fangs fled howling from the presence of the
enraged [v]thane. Gurth's heart swelled within him, for he felt this
attempted slaughter of his faithful beast in a degree much deeper than
the harsh treatment he had himself received. Having in vain raised his
hand to his eyes, he said to Wamba, the jester, who, seeing his master's
ill humor, had prudently retreated to the rear, "I pray thee, do me the
kindness to wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends
me, and these bonds will not let me help myself one way or another."

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode side by side for
some time, during which Gurth maintained a moody silence. At length he
could repress his feelings no longer.

"Friend Wamba," said he, "of all those who are fools enough to serve
Cedric, thou alone hast sufficient dexterity to make thy folly
acceptable to him. Go to him, therefore, and tell him that neither for
love nor fear will Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the head from
me--he may scourge me--he may load me with irons--but henceforth he
shall never compel me either to love or obey him. Go to him and tell him
that Gurth renounces his service."

"Assuredly," replied Wamba, "fool as I am, I will not do your fool's
errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into his girdle, and thou
knowest he doth not always miss his mark."

"I care not," returned Gurth, "how soon he makes a mark of me. Yesterday
he left Wilfred, my young master, in his blood. To-day he has striven to
kill the only other living creature that ever showed me kindness. By
Saint Edward, Saint Dunstan, Saint Withold, and every other saint, I
will never forgive him!"

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travelers paused in a
woodland shade by a fountain to repose their horses and partake of some
provisions with which the hospitable abbot had loaded a [v]sumpter mule.
Their repast was a pretty long one; and the interruption made it
impossible for them to hope to reach Rother