“I do, my lord—but—but,” and he changed colour.
Do not let the reader wonder at this. Innocence suddenly arraigned is oft as confused as guilt.
“But, my lord, I never shot the deer.”
“Thine arrow is a strong presumptive proof against thee.”
“I cannot tell, my lord, who can have used one of my arrows for such a purpose—I did not.”
Here spoke up another page, a Percy of the Northumbrian breed of warriors.
“My lord, I was out the other day with Hubert in the woods, and he lost an arrow which he shot at a hare. We often lose our arrows in the woods.”
“Does any other page know aught of the matter? Speak to clear the innocent or convict the guilty. As you look forward to knighthood, I adjure you all on your honour.”
Then Drogo, who thought that things were going too well for Hubert, spoke.
“My lord, is it a duty to tell all we know, even if it is against a companion?”