"It smites my heart to deal ungently with thee, lady."—The Fair Immured.
"She is like to find some magistrate of knowledge and resources next time!" continued Hal, alluding to Anne. "Well, there's naught to do but ride after her!"
"But what then?" put in Kit. "What shall hinder her from crying out?"
Hal, just mounted, happened to glance at the coach in the lane. He had, in one moment, a swift series of thoughts.
"Would that a dozen horses were to be had!" quoth he.
"Why, now," said Kit, "here come a score of horses, but with men upon their backs."
Hal turned a startled look southward. No, the riders were not Barnet's men; they rode together in too great disorder. Something impelled Hal to wait their coming up. In a few minutes it could be seen that they were a diverse company, some bravely dressed, some raggedly, some in both bravery and rags at once. Some had reckless faces, some uneasy, some stealthy, some sheepish. Their leader, a tall man, who would have been handsome but for his low brow and an inequality between the two halves of his visage, looked a mixture of insolent boldness and knavish servility.
"Why, God's body!" ejaculated Kit Bottle, with sudden astonishment and gladness. "'Tis that same rascal, the very rogue himself, and none else! I had thought we might fall in with him hereabouts!"
"Of whom speak you?" asked Hal, curtly.
"Of that villain Rumney,—mine old comrade that turned robber; him I once told you of. Ho. Rumney, thou counterfeit captain! Well met, thou rogue, says Kit Bottle!"