“Are you sure of that?” replied the horseman.
“As sure as that I hear you speak,” I replied. “I was an unwilling spectator of the skirmish.”
“Unwilling!” continued the interrogator. “Were you not engaged in it then?”
“Certainly no,” I replied; “I was detained by the king's officer.”
“On what suspicion? and who are you? or what is your name?” he continued.
“I really do not know, sir,” said I, “why I should answer so many questions to an unknown stranger. I have told you enough to convince you that you are going into a dangerous and distracted country. If you choose to proceed, it is your own affair; but as I ask you no questions respecting your name and business, you will oblige me by making no inquiries after mine.”
“Mr. Francis Osbaldistone,” said the other rider, in a voice the tones of which thrilled through every nerve of my body, “should not whistle his favourite airs when he wishes to remain undiscovered.”
And Diana Vernon—for she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak, was the last speaker—whistled in playful mimicry the second part of the tune which was on my lips when they came up.
“Good God!” I exclaimed, like one thunderstruck, “can it be you, Miss Vernon, on such a spot—at such an hour—in such a lawless country—in such”—
“In such a masculine dress, you would say.—But what would you have? The philosophy of the excellent Corporal Nym is the best after all; things must be as they may—pauca verba.”