I had scarcely time to face round and draw my sword, when I perceived coming down the glade my wild scholar with a bow in his hand, and a dead fox on his back. He had plainly not seen who I was at first, but recognised me as soon as I turned. He marched gravely towards me, equally heedless of my drawn sword, and of the shaft which a moment ago had all but taken my life.
“Is it you?” said he; “I took you, in your cap and gown, for my tutor.”
“You all but killed me, too,” said I, wrathfully.
“Ay, it was a bad shot. Yet, had you not moved your head, it would have spiked you by the ear to that tree. What brings you here?”
I was taken aback by the coolness of the fellow, who talked about spiking me by the ear as if I had been the fox he carried on his back.
“Marry,” said I, “you should know what brings me here. My horse and my cloak, they brought me here, sirrah.”
“Nay, they brought me here; but I am not sorry to see you. I was about to return to the inn, to look for you.”
I flushed to the roots of my hair, to think how readily I had set this man down as a runaway thief. Never was a face less deceitful, or a manner less suspicious; and I, if I had not been a fool, might have known as much.
“I did you an injustice,” said I, returning my sword, “I believed you had given me the slip, and were—”
“A thief,” said he, with a scornful curl on his lips. “I thank you, master ’prentice.”