“I could join you in a glass of hock and a slice of venison, I confess, my good fellow; but in a nocturnal ride I am no longer your match. However, if you think it best, we will prick on our steeds for another hour. If it be only for them, I am sure we must soon stop.”
“Ay! do, sir; and put your cloak well round you; all is for the best. You are not, I guess, a Sabbath-born child?”
“That am I not, but how would that make our plight worse than it is? Should we be farther off supper?”
“Nearer, perhaps, than you imagine; for we should then have a chance of sharing the spoils of the Spirit Hunter.”
“Ah! Essper, is it so?”
“Truly yes, sir; and were either of us a Sabbath-born child, by holy cross! I would not give much for our chance of a down bed this night.”
Here a great horned owl flew across the road.
“Were I in the north,” said Essper, “I would sing an Ave Mary against the STUT OZEL.”
“What call you that?” asked Vivian.
“Tis the great bird, sir; the great horned owl, that always flies before the Wild Hunter. And truly, sir, I have passed through many forests in my time, but never yet saw I one where I should sooner expect to hear a midnight bugle. If you will allow me, sir, I will ride by your side. Thank God, at least, it is not the Walpurgis night!”