"Empty the jerkin," said Sir Henry, as he pointed to the man's jacket.
Eustace shuddered, but the command was given in so peremptory a tone that there was no option but to comply. He stooped down and emptied the capacious pockets of the dead man's jerkin, wondering the while-time whether or no his master had suddenly turned robber.
"There is little enough to take," said he.
"Tut, I want none of it," replied the knight, and picking up the assortment, which consisted of a huge jack-knife, a pair of spectacles with monstrously wide rims, some bootlaces, a broken comb, and a few coins, he carefully scattered them about the scene where the struggle had taken place. He was not yet satisfied, though, for espying the hollow trunk of an old tree close by, he made the unwilling page help him to deposit the body there.
Eustace wonderingly helped him. He would much preferred to have left it alone, but he dared offer no resistance. He could only hope that if the matter were heard of again, he might not be implicated in the plot.
De la Zouch critically surveyed the scene, and after lightly covering the body over with grass and twigs, he turned to depart.
They walked on in silence for some distance before either of them spoke: the knight deeply wrapped in thought; the page eager and yet fearful to learn the particulars, yet not daring to question his master.
At last Sir Henry spoke.
"Mind you, Eustace," said he, "say naught of this affair. I would not have my name mixed up with it, and if they ask thee, say thou knowest naught."
Eustace felt mightily relieved, and readily gave the required promise. He was used to these little deceptions which his master was wont to use on pressing occasions.