“What then? Are you desirous of becoming one, and making me your victim?” asked the hunter, with a look of contempt; “for you will find that no easy job, stout though you be. I have a good mind to crack your crown for coming here to disturb my solitude!”
“Two can play at that game,” replied Bladud, with a seraphic smile. “But I am truly a man of peace. I merely want to look after your cattle for occupation; I will gladly live in the woods, away from your dwelling, if you will let me serve you—my sole desire being, like your own, to live—and, if need be, to die—alone.”
For a few moments there was a softened expression on the hunter’s face as he asked, in a tone that had something almost of sympathy in it—
“Is there a woman at the bottom of this?”
“No. Woman has nothing to do with it—at least, not exactly—not directly,” returned Bladud.
“Hah!” exclaimed the man, paying no regard to the modification implied in the answer; and advancing a step, with eager look, “did she tempt you on and then deceive you; and scorn you, and forsake you for another man?”
“You mistake me. The poor woman I was thinking of was an old one, labouring under a deadly disease.”
On hearing this the hunter’s softened look vanished, and his former scowl returned.
“Go!” he said, sternly; “I can take care of the cattle myself, without help. But stay, a man of your peaceful nature and humility may, perchance, not be too proud to take charge of pigs.”
Bladud flushed—not so much because of the proposal as the tone of contempt in which it was uttered; but, remembering his condition and his object, he mastered his feelings.