“There goes a mettled wench,” said Lance; “and now, naunt, give me the old broadsword—it is above the bed-head—and my wood-knife; and I shall do well enough.”
“And what is to become of me?” bleated the unfortunate Mistress Deborah Debbitch.
“You must remain here with my aunt, Mistress Deb; and, for old acquaintance’ sake, she will take care no harm befalls you; but take heed how you attempt to break bounds.”
So saying, and pondering in his own mind the task which he had undertaken, the hardy forester strode down the moonlight glade, scarcely hearing the blessings and cautions which Dame Ellesmere kept showering after him. His thoughts were not altogether warlike. “What a tight ankle the jade hath!—she trips it like a doe in summer over dew. Well, but here are the huts—Let us to this gear.—Are ye all asleep, you dammers, sinkers, and drift-drivers? turn out, ye subterranean badgers. Here is your master, Sir Geoffrey, dead, for aught ye know or care. Do not you see the beacon is unlit, and you sit there like so many asses?”
“Why,” answered one of the miners, who now began to come out of their huts—
“An he be dead,
He will eat no more bread.”
“And you are like to eat none neither,” said Lance; “for the works will be presently stopped, and all of you turned off.”
“Well, and what of it, Master Lance? As good play for nought as work for nought. Here is four weeks we have scarce seen the colour of Sir Geoffrey’s coin; and you ask us to care whether he be dead or in life? For you, that goes about, trotting upon your horse, and doing for work what all men do for pleasure, it may be well enough; but it is another matter to be leaving God’s light, and burrowing all day and night in darkness, like a toad in a hole—that’s not to be done for nought, I trow; and if Sir Geoffrey is dead, his soul will suffer for’t; and if he’s alive, we’ll have him in the Barmoot Court.”
“Hark ye, gaffer,” said Lance, “and take notice, my mates, all of you,” for a considerable number of these rude and subterranean people had now assembled to hear the discussion—“Has Sir Geoffrey, think you, ever put a penny in his pouch out of this same Bonadventure mine?”
“I cannot say as I think he has,” answered old Ditchley, the party who maintained the controversy.