I minded the story of the Huntsman's Leap, and how I had felt when I knew my escape. It was plain that this forest-bred Erpwald, with his cool head, and lack of power to picture what might have been, would make a good warrior, so far as dogged fearlessness goes, and that is a long way.

Now the ealdorman kept what else he might have to say until we were at home, for it was time for us to be off. So we brushed Erpwald down and hid his cut under a cap that the good franklin of the house lent him, for his own was gone, as he said, to make a bird's nest somewhere on the cliffs; and then Elfrida came from the cottage, looking a little white and shaken with her fright, but otherwise none the worse, and we started.

Erpwald kept out of her sight for a little while, but as we were fairly on the way home it was not long before he found his way to her side, and we let those two have their say out together.

One by one the friends who had joined us dropped out of the party as their way led them aside, until by the time we reached the ealdorman's house only half a dozen of us were left. Then Herewald would have us come in for some cheer after the long day, but we were tired and stained, and I must be back at the guardroom, and so he bade his folk bring somewhat out here to us. There was a cask of ale already set on the low wall by the gate for the men, and we sat on our horses waiting, with a little crowd of thralls and children round us, looking at the two good deer that we brought back. Then the steward and some of the women of the house brought horns of ale from the house for us.

One of the women came to me, and without seeing who she was, or thinking of doing so, I reached out my hand for the horn that she held up, and at that moment some one from behind seemed to run against my horse's flank, and he lashed out and reared as if he was hurt. My rein was loose, and I was bending carelessly over to take the horn, and it was all that I could do to keep my seat for the moment. As for the girl, she dropped the horn and ran from the plunging horse into the doorway for safety.

Then I heard the sharp crack of a whip, and the voice of the head huntsman speaking angrily:

"Out on you for a silly oaf!--What mean you by going near the thane at all?"

The whip cracked again, and the long lash curled round the shoulders of a ragged thrall, who tried in vain to escape it.

"On my word, I believe you did it on purpose!" the huntsman cried, with a third shrewd lash that found its lodgment rightly.

"Mercy, Master," mumbled the man, writhing; "it is this terrible crossing of the eyes. I do not rightly see where I go."

I had quieted the horse by this time, and I held up my hand to stay the lash from the thrall. Some one picked up the horn that the girl had let fall.

"Let him be," I said. "It could but have been a chance, and he is lucky not to have been kicked. See, he does squint most amazingly."

"Ay," growled the huntsman, "so he does; but I never knew a cross-eyed man before who had any trouble in walking straight enough."

The thrall slunk away among his fellows. He was a round-shouldered man with hay-coloured hair and a stubby beard of the same, and he rubbed his shoulders with his elbows lifted as he went. Then the steward gave me a fresh horn, and we said farewell to our host and hostess, and Erpwald and I went our way.

"I thought that the horse would have knocked the Welsh girl over,"

he said presently. "She was pretty nimble, however. That churl must have kicked your horse sharply to make him plunge as he did."

"Trod on his fetlock most likely," I answered. "Clumsy knave."

"Well, that huntsman knows how to use a lash, at all events, and he will have a care in future. But how my head does ache!"

"That is likely enough," I said, laughing. "It was a shrewd knock, and it kept you in that hole for the longest hour and a half I have ever known."

"It does take somewhat out of the common to hurt me much," he said simply.

"Well, by tomorrow you will be famed all over Glas...o...b..ry as the man who fell over Cheddar cliffs and escaped by reason of lighting on the thickest part of him," I answered.

It was a poor jest enough, but it set him laughing. I did not wish him to say more of what had just happened, for I was puzzled about it, and wanted to get my thoughts to work. He had spoken of the very thing that I had been warned of, for almost had I taken the horn from the hand of a Briton--the Welsh girl of whom he spoke once before. I had forgotten her, for I do not think that I had ever seen her since she came here, until now. But at this moment I seemed to have a feeling that her face was in some way familiar to me, though only in that half-formed way that troubles one, and I was trying to recall how this might be.

Erpwald went off to the guest chamber where he was lodged, and presently I found our old leech and took him to see after him. He went comfortably to sleep after his hurt had been dressed, and so I left him. I will say at once that he felt no more trouble from it.

Then I went to the stables to see how fared my horse after the day's work, and found him enjoying his feed after grooming. I looked him over, but I could see no mark to show where the man might have hurt him. But as I was running my hand along the smooth hock to feel for any bruise, my groom said to me:

"Have you had a roll in a thorn bush, Master?"

"No.--What makes you think I might have had one?"

"I found this in his flank when I rubbed him down, and it was run thus far into him."

He held out a long stiff blackthorn spine, marking a full inch on its length with his thumbnail.

"Enough to set a horse wild for a moment," he went on. "And unless you had fallen, I could not think how it got there."

"In which flank was it?" I asked, taking the thorn from him.

"The near flank, Master."

That was where the thrall ran against him, and surely the huntsman was not so far wrong when he said that he did so on purpose. If so, it was done at the right moment to give me a heavy fall, save for a bit of luck, or maybe horsemanship. It was a strange business.

"I was through a thicket or two today," I said carelessly. "Maybe I hit a branch in just the right way to drive it in. If we were galloping he would not have noticed it. These little things happen oddly sometimes."

Then the man began to tell me some other little mishaps to horses that could not be explained, bustling about the while. And before long I left the stables and went to my own quarters, with the thorn yet in my hand. It had been cut from the bush, and not broken, just as if it had been chosen. Now, if these hidden plotters wanted to frighten me, I am bound to say that they succeeded more or less.

Was the giving of the horn by the Welsh girl to be a signal to the thrall in some way? If there is one thing that a man need not be ashamed to say that he fears, it is treachery, and I seemed to be surrounded by it. Hardly could a house-carle come to my door but it seemed to me that he must needs bring one of these unlucky notes.

It was just as well that I had some unknown friend to write them to me, though I cannot say that I had profited by them so far.

Now I sent two of my men to see if they could find the cross-eyed thrall, but of course he was not to be laid hands on. Only the people who had been at the ealdorman's door seemed to have seen him, and they could not tell who or whence he was. He was so easily known, however, that I thought I should be certain to have him sooner or later. Such a squint as he had is not to be hidden, and that made the wonder that he had dared to do this all the greater.

I slept on it all, and woke with fewer fears on me, for I was overwrought yesterday after all the terrible waiting on the cliff and what went before. It was Sunday, moreover, and the early services in the new church helped mightily to set a new face on things. So when I had seen to the few duties of the morning, I went down the street to ask after Elfrida, being anxious to hear that her fright had done her no hurt. Erpwald had been there before me, but I had missed him since.

Elfrida was well, and glad to see me. We sat and talked of yesterday, and I found that Erpwald had said nothing of how he saved her, and it was pleasant to tell her of it, while she listened with eyes that sparkled. It was plain that I could have found nothing that would please her better than to talk of him. So I even told her how he had gone over the edge into the cleft, but without saying that we feared for his life for so long. Then her father came in, and at once she asked after some sick person.

"How goes it with him now," she said.

"Well enough, says the leech; but he had well-nigh died in the night."

"What is it that ails him?--Can the leech tell that yet?"

"He has taken somewhat that has poisoned him," the ealdorman answered. "The leech asked if he had eaten of mushrooms, or rather toadstools, by mistake."

"But there are none about as yet."

Now I asked who the sick man was, and Herewald told me that he was such an one who was with us yesterday. I minded him as one who stood near me at the door when my horse reared. I thought that he was the man who picked up my dropped horn, and I was sorry for him.

However, that was not much concern of mine, so we pa.s.sed to other talk for a little, and then Elfrida said:

"Are there any tidings of my maiden? I fear for her."

"None at all," the ealdorman said. "Here is a strange thing, Oswald; for that girl whom you so nearly rode over last evening is as clean gone as if she had never been. None saw her go, but when supper time came she was nowhere to be found. Nor is there any trace of her now."

I felt as if I had expected to hear that the Welsh girl had gone as well as the thrall, and I cannot say that I was surprised; though as they had failed in whatever they meant to compa.s.s this time, I could not see why they should not have tried again.

"Whence came she," I asked as carelessly as I could. "Maybe she has only gone home, fearing blame for dropping that horn."

"She has no home to go to, that we ken. She came from Jago at Norton only a little while ago, and she would hardly try to get back there across the hills alone. She is an orphan serf of his, and I fear that she has been stolen away."

"She has not been here long, then?"