"A broil! Pshaw!" cried Robin impatiently. "Some pursy citizen in a post-chaise, belike, or passengers for the ferry."
"There's another carriage following the one you hear," said Steve. "Shall I warn the duke and Mr. Percival?"
"No, no! let us play highwaymen once more and frighten them away," laughed Robin, quickly adjusting a black mask and handing one to Steve. As he did so a hand was laid somewhat roughly on his arm and the duke, in low but emphatic tones, interrupted him:
"A truce to this headstrong folly; your rashness will ruin everything."
"I'm in the right temper for a tussle," returned Robin resignedly. "Yet if these travelers do not molest us they may pass on their way unchallenged for me," and, reluctantly, he withdrew a few paces farther into the thicket, just as a coach and four rounded the bend in the road and drew up not many paces away.
A man jumped out of the rumble, and hurrying to the inn-door, battered and kicked at it, loudly shouting, "Ferry—ho, Ferry—where is the Ferryman? Ho, Landlord, open your door quickly and do not waste our time."
An upper window opened cautiously, just wide enough to show a night-capped head within.
"Who calls for the ferry at this hour?" demanded a quavering voice.
"Why, 'tis early yet," replied the man; "we are travelers who would cross in hot haste."
"Your haste will have time to cool—the ferryman beds t'other side the river and comes not over unless he brings a fare," said the landlord.