“Now, talking o’ pistol-balls and blessings in disguise, your honour?” questioned the Corporal at last.
“With my arm thus, Bob, I am free to meet my Lord Sayle whenever I will.”
“But, sir, his wound should be nigh well by now and your arm will be mighty stiff to-morrow.”
“But not too stiff to kill him.”
“Kill?” repeated the Corporal, and, glancing at his master’s pale, set face, said no more.
“When we fought at the ‘White Hart’ I might ha’ reached him time and again, but held my hand because of the oath I swore five years agone.”
“Aye, your honour, and to be sure an oath is ever an’ always an oath!” nodded the Corporal.
“Hum!” quoth Sir John, eyeing the Corporal a little askance. “But to-day, Bob, I know him for a thing the world were well rid of ... and yet I will confess to a foolish prejudice, a ridiculous qualm at the idea of having the fellow’s death on my hands. And yet this hath nothing whatever to do with my oath.”
Here Sir John became thoughtful, whereupon the Corporal reined half a length to the rear, and thus they journeyed in silence, until they were come in sight of the cross-roads.