“Good-bye again, Angus, I shall not forget you,” he said.
At that moment Ian returned and they mounted their horses and bade farewell and rode off.
The boy stood in the grey dawn, gazing regretfully after them down the road. Then a thought struck him. He felt puzzled. “Why, I do not believe that was a boy at all,—No, I am sure it was not. It must have been the little lady herself. What a fool I was not to think of it before. But fancy her taking a kiss from the likes of me!”
They had hardly disappeared from sight, when he heard the clatter of hoofs behind him and a body of armed men rode down the street.
“Good morrow, my lad,” said their leader, “you are up betimes.”
Wilfred had decided that it would be best to appear very communicative and then perhaps they would not trouble to ask any one else.
“Yes,” he said, “there have been some silly loons here, who did not know what a good thing bed is on a cold winter morning, routing me up to look after their horses,” and Wilfred half turned on his heel as though he would go back to the house.
“Not so fast, my lad,” said the leader, “who were they, and what were they like?”
“Oh, there were two of them, a man in homespun and his page, though why he should have a page perplexed me not a little. Do you know who he was, good sirs, I should like to know the meaning of it?”