Cedric laughed again; and now he wore such a gay, light-hearted look as I bethought me had not been on his face for three days past.
“Hush!” he said, “tell it not so loud lest some may hear thee. But was it not the will of my Lord Mountjoy, who risked his life for me at Shrewsbury, that Old Marvin should win this one last archer match? It cost me but a broken bowstring and some little work of the head when John o’ the Wallfield seemed like to win the day. He needs must shoot before me that I might know how to guide my bolts. Had he struck the rolling ball with but one more bolt, he would have equaled Marvin’s score; and I must have done likewise that we three might shoot again. If with two more, he would have bested Marvin, and I must take the prize from him. But with only two strokes in the five, ’twas easy quite; and now Marvin hath the prize that it were shame to keep from him.”
Then indeed I understood; and I wrung Cedric’s hand in gladness.
“My father shall know of this,” I cried; “and he’ll give thee a prize also. Another cow, second only to the one that Marvin chooses, shall go to thy father’s cottage.”
But Cedric’s face, which had been merry, now quickly altered; and he shook his head.
“Sir Dickon,” he said steadily, “dost thou not recall that thou didst promise not to reveal what I did show thee?”
“Why! But of that word thou’lt release me, Cedric. ’Twas but a notion of thine. Truly, Lord Mountjoy should know of this.”
But Cedric still shook his head.
“I told thee not in order that I might gain a prize. And for my shooting this day no prize will I take. I somehow could not bear that thou should’st think me so poor an archer as this day’s work did show; but now I hold thee to thy knightly word, well and freely given.”
I could think of no word more to say nor any way of moving him from his resolve. So we walked slowly back to the hall, and in silence, for Cedric was ever of few words, and I was thinking deeply on his obstinacy.