"But, man, man! Wilder and wilder!" exclaimed Sir Valentine, as if he thought himself trifled with. "Know you not their leader will be one that is well acquainted with my face?"
"So much the better," cried Hal; "for then he will take oath it is you he sees departing!"
"I he sees departing?" echoed Sir Valentine, and began to look at Hal apprehensively, as if in suspicion of madness, a suspicion in which the physician and Anthony seemed to join. "I departing, when I am in yon narrow hole between timbers? I departing, when I am hurt beyond power of motion, as their leader will doubtless learn at the village ale-house, on inquiring if I be at home."
"Yes, sir," said Hal, "he shall think it is you, and the more so if he have heard of your wound. For, in the lanthorn's light, as he comes in seeing distance, he shall perceive that you sit your horse as a lame man doth. And that thy head is stiffly perched, thy shoulders drawn back, in the manner peculiar to them. And that thy left elbow is thrust out as is its wont. And that thy hat, as usual, shades thy brow thus. But more than all else, sir, that thy face is of little breadth, thy beard gray and round, as they have been these many years."
And Hal, having realized in attitude each previous point in his description, took from his pocket the false beard that had lain there since the first performance of "Hamlet," and tying it on his face, which he had thinned by drawing in his cheeks, stood transformed into the living semblance of Sir Valentine Fleetwood.
CHAPTER VI.
"Let the world think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip at an instant."—Every Man in His Humor.
There was a moment's silence in the chamber. Then—