“I cannot get through my head,” said he, “who this fine gentleman might be. Come, tell me of what sort was this fine Cavalier.”
Deliverance made no reply.
“I am sore perplexed,” muttered Sir Jonathan; “this business savours ill. I fear I wot not what. Alack! ill luck has pursued me since I left England. Closer than a shadow, it has crept at my heels, ever ready to have at my throat.”
So real was his distress that Deliverance was moved to pity. For the moment she forgot his persecution. “I be right sorry for ye,” said she.
Now as Sir Jonathan heard the sympathy in the sweet voice, a crafty look came into his eyes, and his lids dropped for fear the little maid might perceive thereby the thought that crossed his mind. He rested his elbow on his knee, bowed his head on his hand, and sighed heavily.
“Could you but know how persecuted a man I am, mistress,” said he, “you would feel grief for my poor cause. Alackaday, alackaday! that I should have such an enemy.”
“Who might your enemy be, good sir?” asked the little maid.
“You would not know him,” he answered. “In England he dwells,—a man of portly presence, with a dash, a swagger, a twirl of his sword. A man given o’er to dress.”
Now, in thinking he could surprise Deliverance into admitting that the fine gentleman she had met that eventful day in the forest was a man of such description, he was mistaken, for the little maid had been taught to keep a close mouth.
“Perchance, I had best tell you my sad tale,” continued Sir Jonathan. “I was obliged to flee England, lest mine enemy poison me. Spite of his open air and swagger, he was a snake in the grass, forever ready to strike at my heel, to sting me covertly in darkness. An honest man knows no defence against such a villain. Why look you so at me? I harbour no malice against you.”