"Who's to say 'tis good? No foreign tokens for us. For aught we know 'tis witches' money, and will turn to cinder."
"Oh, if that's your objection," said I, "here's a twenty-shilling laurel," which I tossed to him.
The magic of money! The sulky clowns were happy on the instant. They gave a cheer for the "young Squire of Belwood," and hurried off to pick up the doe, and then, doubtless, to the ale-house.
Dismounting, I inquired whether the lady had friends at hand to whose care I might take her.
"My father and I are lodging at the inn of the White Hart," she said, rising to her feet, but immediately sinking again, with a little moan. "I am afraid walking is out of my power," she said. "My ankle is disabled. If you will do me the kindness to acquaint my father, Doctor Goel, with my position, he will know what to do."
"Pardon me, but that would be waste of time, and time is precious," I answered. "Your hurts should be seen to without delay. If you can manage to sit my horse, I will lead him gently."
A faint smile crossed her face, drawn with pain though it was.
"I have never ridden a horse, and should probably fall; for, to tell the truth, I have some fear that I may swoon."
She was so pale, and such a dimness had come into her eyes that I feared so, too.
"Then we must needs ride double," said I, jumping into the saddle. "I will take you in front of me, and there will be no risk of your falling."