“Pass on, every one,” said Gil, quietly. “I will speak to them. I’ll join you at the mouth.”
The sound of the horses’ hoofs was already dying away in the distance, and Wat and his companions seemed to melt softly into the darkness, while, quietly going down on one knee, the captain drew off the rough pieces of cloth from the faces of the prostrate clerks, who, finding themselves at liberty, sat up.
“I hope you are not hurt, father,” said Gil to Father Brisdone.
“Ah, my son, is it you?” was the reply. “Nay, I am not hurt, though the men were rough.”
“But I am hurt,” cried Master Peasegood, angrily. “I thought it was one of your games, Captain Gil Carr. Zounds, sir, Sir Thomas Beckley shall know of it, and constables and fighting-men shall come and clear your nest of hornets away. Zounds, father, if I were of your faith, I’d excommunicate him.”
“You are hasty, Master Peasegood,” said Gil, quietly. “Do not rail at me. I have done nothing but set you at liberty.”
“But you had us seized.”
“Nay, indeed, I knew nothing until I came upon you here, and I have set you at liberty. You are quite free; go in peace.”
“Quite free; go in peace!” cried Master Peasegood. “Zounds, sir, is this a free country—is this his Majesty’s high-way, or are you the lord of it all! I’ll have it stopped.”
“Nay, nay, Master Peasegood, you are angry, and you will stop nothing. You must have seen the forest spirits, and they interfered with you.”