“Nay, trust to us; we set her o' the wrong track. She went eastward and north on the highway.”
But ere Symme had said the last word, the peddler was off; and those others sat agape. Then Symme's eye caught the glitter of the gold.
“Come back,—come back!” he bawled. “Wilt have thy share?”
But the beggar choked him and the soldier dealt him a knock in the paunch. And whether the peddler heard or no, he did not turn back.
He took a short way through the wood and came out on the road not so far behind Calote, and she, looking backward, saw him. In the first moment she began to run away, but presently she bethought her how 't was silly to flee from a thief she had set out to take; and because he still came on at a good pace, she sat down on a stone to wait for him. So, at last, he came up panting and wiping the sweat from his face.
“Oh, thou wicked, cruel wight!” she cried. “Thou false friend!—I trusted thee. Alack!—I trusted thee!”
“L-l-lll-l- ww-w-,” said the peddler, striving for his breath.
“Hast sold the horn?—hast sold it, thou roberd?” quoth she very violently, wringing her hands.
“N-nay, nor stole it, neither,” he answered at last; and he took off his hood and shook the horn out of the point into her hand.
She stood in amaze.