“In truth,” said he, “I should like it much. Wherefore hasten to secure them; but take power enough with you to be in no danger of failing, for they are dangerous desperadoes, as their actions and words prove.”
“Trust me,” said Sir Anthony, with evident confidence in himself that he would be prudent in action. “May I never again taste joy if I fail in the enterprise!”
“Wherefore not say ale and wine at once?” replied Moreville, jocularly; “I should then feel assured of your doing your very utmost.”
Sir Anthony did not answer, but, having selected a dozen stalwart men from De Moreville’s train, the knight made for the ale-house.
“Follow me at a distance,” said he to the men, “and as soon as you perceive me make a sign to arrest the persons I am in search of, lay hands on them, and take care they do not, on any account, escape.”
So saying, Sir Anthony again entered the ale-house, ascended the stairs, and, followed by his myrmidons, entered the chamber where he had left Collingham and Oliver Icingla. He was prepared to give the sign which was to make them prisoners, and was already anticipating the success of the enterprise which, according to his calculations, was to redeem him from the disgrace which he had incurred by allowing Chas-Chateil to be entered by a band of outlaws, when his countenance fell and he tossed his arms on high.
“By the head of St. Anthony,” said he, wildly, and with mortification in his countenance, “the birds have flown!”
“Yes,” answered a sepulchral voice, which seemed to come from the midst of the band, “they are flown; for in vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird.”
Sir Anthony Waledger started, shivered, and looked round and round in great alarm, and several of his followers crossed themselves; and as they did so, the voice repeated in still more mysterious accents—
“In vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird.”