"Seen whom?" demanded the knight.
"Why, the devil, your worship," replied Longpole. "I've seen him twice."
"Indeed!" said Sir Osborne; "and pray what did his infernal highness say to you when you did see him? Or rather, what do you mean?"
"Why, I mean, sir," replied the other, "that I have seen Sir Payan Wileton twice here in the park during yesterday, if it was not his ghost; for he looked deadly pale, and I fancied I could smell a sort of brimstony smell. Now, I wot, a cunning priest would have told by the flavour whether 'twas purgatory half and half, or unadulterated hell: though, if he's not there, hell's empty."
"Hush!" said Sir Osborne; "speak not so lightly. When was this?"
"The first time I saw him, sir," answered the yeoman, "was yesterday in the forenoon, soon after the justs, when I took a stroll out into the park with Mistress Geraldine, the Lady Katrine's maid, for a little fresh air after the peck of dust I had broken my fast upon in the field. We had got, I don't know how, your worship, into that lonely part under the hill, when beneath one of the trees hard by I saw Sir Payan standing stock-still, with his hand in the bosom of his doublet. His colour was always little better than that of a turnip, but now it looked like a turnip boiled."
"Did he speak to you?" demanded Sir Osborne, "or give any sign that he recognised you?"
"He did not speak," replied Longpole; "but when he saw me, he quietly slipped his hand out of the bosom of his doublet, and getting it down to the hilt of his poniard, kept fingering it with a sort of affectionate squeeze, as much as to say, 'Dearly beloved, how I should like to pluck you out of your leathern case, and furnish you with one of flesh and blood!' He was ever fond of playing with his poniard; and when he spoke to you, if it were but of sousing a toast, he would draw it in and out of the scabbard all the time, as though he were afraid of losing the acquaintance if he did not keep up the intimacy."
"You neither spoke nor took any notice, I hope," said Sir Osborne.
"Oh, no, your worship!" answered the custrel; "I did not even give him bon jour, though he was fond of talking French to me when he wished to say something privately. I only twitched Mistress Geraldine over to the other side, and passed him by close; thinking to myself, 'If I see your dagger in the air, I'll go nigh to sweep your head off with my broadsword, if I have to run to France for it;' but seeing that I looked him in the face, he turned him round upon his heel, with a draw down of the corner of his mouth, which meant a great deal if it were rightly read.