“After what’s happened! And what has happened? You mystify me, my man!”
“I mean, captain, the little affair as occurred between you and him—in the old camp over there.”
“Between me, and him? Who are you talking of, Withers? Not the ‘black horseman,’ as the rustics call this—”
“No, captain; Wull Walford, I mean.”
“And pray what has occurred between Master Wull Walford and myself? I remember no individual of the name.”
“You remember Robin Hood, captain—he as had the audacity to strike at your honour with his bow?”
“O-o-h! that’s the difficulty, is it. So-so—” continued Scarthe, in a half-soliloquy. “Wull Walford of Wapsey’s Wood, and the bold outlaw of Sherwood Forest, are identical individuals, are they? No wonder the fellow has some scruples about seeing me again. Ha! ha! I dare say I shall be able to overcome them. A crown or two will no doubt suffice to satisfy Master Walford, for what he may have considered a slight to his sweetheart; and, as to the blow over my own crown, I can the more easily pardon that, since I believe he broke the stock of his weapon in dealing it. So, Robin Hood it is. Well! if I’m not mistaken, he and I may be fast friends yet. At all events, from what I observed on that occasion, he is not likely to be on the friendliest terms with my enemy. Withers!”
“Captain!” said the trooper, making a fresh salute to his officer, as if in the expectation of receiving some order.
“I shall want you to guide me to the domicile of this Walford. I suppose he has a house somewhere; or does he, like his prototype, roam anywhere and everywhere, and sleep under the shadow of the greenwood tree?”
“He lives in a poor sort o’ cottage, captain—not very far from that of Dick Dancey.”