highway till the turn for
Holywood, and now he had to change his plan. But above all, he had
recognised the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the battle
had gone finally against the rose of Lancaster. Had Sir Daniel joined,
and was he now a fugitive and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of
York, and was he forfeit to honour? It was an ugly choice.

"Come," he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk
forward through the grove, with Matcham limping in his rear.

For some time they continued to thread the forest in silence. It was now
growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the
tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow
darker and the chill of the night to fall.

"If there were anything to eat!" cried Dick, suddenly, pausing as he
spoke.

Matcham sat down and began to weep.

"Ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives,
your heart was hard enough," said Dick, contemptuously. "Y' 'ave seven
deaths upon your conscience, Master John; I'll ne'er forgive you that."

"Conscience!" cried Matcham, looking fiercely up. "Mine! And ye have the
man's red blood upon your dagger! And wherefore did ye slay him, the
poor soul? He drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his
hand, and spared you! 'Tis as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that not
defends himself."

Dick was struck dumb.

"I slew him fair. I ran me in upon his bow," he cried.

"It was a coward blow," returned Matcham. "Y'are but a lout and bully,
Master Dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will
see you truckle at his boot! Ye care not for vengeance, neither--for
your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth
for justice. But if there come but a poor creature in your hands that
lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!"

Dick was too furious to observe that "she."

"Marry!" he cried, "and here is news! Of any two the one will still be
stronger. The better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well
served. Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill-guidance and
unthankfulness to meward; and what ye deserve ye shall have."

And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the
appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt.

"Here shall be your supper," he said, grimly.

Matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked
D