"Well, Michael," said Frederick, "whom dost thou think it was last night, that thou didst handle so roughly? Thinkst thou that it was Catesby?"
"Sure, sor, Oi know not fer a surety, but methinks it must ha' bin anither."
"And why?"
"Because, sor, he seemed to lack the stringth that Catesby doth possiss."
"Methinks that it had been all one to thee had he been possessed of twice the power of Catesby. I doubt me much that thou had noticed any difference," laughed Frederick.
At this compliment to his strength Michael blushed like a maiden, and returned no answer.
"Come, Walter, what wilt thou wager that the would-be assassin of last night was or was not Catesby?" asked my friend.
"Truly, my wish is so strong that it was mine old enemy that I will make it father of the thought, and for the wager,—say—a new cloak, of Paris's latest fashion."
"Done, by Heaven! That cloak will suit me well. I'll lay on Michael's judgment."
When we were fully armed we strolled forth from our tent to watch the spectators arrive in one continuous stream, like a sluggish, winding river, and well nigh as unceasing.