At his side knelt the man who had felled him, and who was endeavouring to ascertain if he still breathed. Everell essayed to grasp his sword-hilt, but the other caught his wrist with a powerful hand.
“Softly, master,” said a gruff but apparently pacific voice. “’Tis all a mistake, belike, and, if so be it is, I ask your pardon humbly. I make you out to be a gentleman, sir, and in that case not what I supposed. But you appeared so sudden, I took it you’d been lying in wait for me. I struck out first, and thought afterwards, which was maybe the wrong way about. So I stayed to see what hurt was done, and lend a hand if need be.—Nay, you’ll find I haven’t touched your pockets, sir.”
Forgetting the injury in the chivalrous after-conduct—for nine men out of ten would have run away, whether the blow had been mistaken or not—Everell replied as heartily as he could:
“Why, friend, you seem a very brave fellow, and I forgive you the mistake. As for harm, I do begin to feel something like a cracked crown; but my wits are whole enough, so the damage can’t be very great. I can tell better if you will allow me to rise—which you can safely do, as I assure you I’m not your enemy, nor was I lying in wait.”
Everell then explained his concealment among the bracken, relating exactly what he had seen. “I thought you must have got far away, to judge from your speed down yonder slope.”
“Nay, sir,” said the man, stepping back so that Everell might rise, “I had no need to run further. I was already off the land of them that were chasing me—the boundary is just beyond the glade: you could see the fence among the trees if ’twere daylight—but I kept running lest they might send a shot after me. As soon as I found covert on this side the glade, I stopped to get my breath. Now, sir, I’ve been as frank with you as you’ve been with me; and I’m glad to see, by the way you stand and step, that no lasting injury is done, after all.”
Everell, whose hat had saved his skull, and who could feel only a little blood, and that already coagulating, was able to stand without other unpleasant symptoms than a thumping ache of the head. His new acquaintance seemed ready to go about his own business, but Everell was loth to part with him so soon. He was a short, thick-set, long-armed fellow, with a broad face, whose bold, rugged features would by ignorant people be termed ugly, and whose scowling, defiant look would by the same people be called wicked. But something in his speech or manner, or even in his appearance as far as could be made out in the comparative darkness, stamped him in Everell’s mind as an honest rascal, worthy of confidence.
“No injury, I assure you,” replied Everell. “Indeed I must thank you for a lesson. Henceforth I shall look before I leap, in any similar case; with my hand on my sword, too.”
“’Tis a wise resolve, master. Though I for one am glad your hand was not on your sword to-night: for then I should have felt sure you were in league with them yonder, and worse might have happened.”
“By ‘them yonder,’ I take it you mean gamekeepers.”