“Why, it is the landlord,” said Denys.
“Get up, thou craven heart!” shouted one of the archers.
“Why, man, the thieves are bound, and we are dry that bound them. Up! and show us thy wine; for no bottles see here.”
“What, be the rascals bound?” stammered the pale landlord; “good news. W-w-wine? that will I, honest sirs.”
And he rose with unsure joints and offered to lead the way to the wine cellar. But Denys interposed. “You are all in the dark, comrades. He is in league with the thieves.”
“Alack, good soldier, me in league with the accursed robbers! Is that reasonable?”
“The girl said so anyway.”
“The girl! What girl? Ah! Curse her, traitress!”
“Well,” interposed the other archer; “the girl is not here, but gone on to the bailiff. So let the burghers settle whether this craven be guilty or no: for we caught him not in the act: and let him draw us our wine.”
“One moment,” said Denys shrewdly. “Why cursed he the girl? If he be a true man, he should bless her as we do.”