Part 27 (1/2)

”Poh-poh, Dancey; I am not deserving of your daughter's thanks. What I did in her behalf was only a duty; which I should equally have felt bound to perform for the humblest individual on the ground. Indeed your beautiful daughter did not seem to stand in need of my interference.

She had already found a sufficiently chivalric champion in bold Robin Hood--”

”Ah! sir,” interrupted the deer-stealer, bending down towards his patron, and speaking in a tone of serious confidence, ”That's just where the trouble be. She han't thanked _him_; and the poor fellow's beside hisself, because she won't make more o' him. I do all I can to get her take on to him; for I believe Wull Walford to be a worthy lad: an' he mean well for my gurl. But 'taren't no use, sir, ne'er a bit on't. As the sayin' be, one man may take a horse to the water, but forty can't make the anymal drink, if he an't a mind to.”

”I think, friend Dancey,” quietly rejoined the cavalier, ”you'll do well to leave your daughter free to follow her own inclinations--especially in a matter of the kind you speak of. Perhaps her instincts of what's best for her, in that regard, may be more trustworthy than yours.”

”Ah! sir,” sighed the fond parent of the beautiful Betsey, ”If I'd leave her free to foller her own ways, she'd go clear to the devil--_she would_. Not that she's a bad sort, my Bet aren't. No--no--she be a good-hearted gurl, as I've already sayed; but she's too forrard, sir-- too forrard, and proud enough to have inclinings for them as be far above her. That's why she looks down upon Wull: because ye see, sir, he be only a poor woodman; tho' that's as much as I be myself.”

The cavalier might have suspected the beautiful Betsey of having other reasons for disliking ”Wull Walford;” but it was not the time to talk upon such a theme; and, without further parley he changed the conversation to the business for which he had summoned the old woodman into his presence.

”Here are six letters I want you to deliver,” said he, taking that number from the table.

”You perceive,” he added, holding them up to the light of the lamp, ”that I have numbered the letters--in the order in which you will arrive at the houses where you are to deliver them--so that there may be no mistake. I need not add, Dancey, that each is to be _delivered with your own hand, or else not at all_.”

”I understand what you mean, sir. I don't part wi' ere a one o' 'em, 'cept to the party hisself. You can trust d.i.c.k Dancey for that.”

”I know it, d.i.c.k; and that's why I'm giving you all this trouble. I only wish you could have taken these others; but it's impossible.

They're for a different section of the county; and must go by another hand.”

”Wull Walford's wi' me, sir. Ye sent for him too, didn't ye?”

”I did. You say he can be trusted, Dancey?”

”Oh sir! there's no fear o' him. He han't no love for eyther Church, or King. He has been in the stocks once too often for that.”

”Ha! ha!” laughed the cavalier, ”that is but slight recommendation of his trustworthiness. It don't matter, however. He shall not know much of the nature of his errand; and, therefore there will be no great danger in his carrying the letters.”

Dancey saw that he was expected to take the road at once; and, without further parley, he started off on his distant round of delivery: before leaving the house, however, having fortified himself against the raw air of the night, by a stoup of strong ale--with which Oriole had been directed to supply him.

Will Walford--who among the _dramatis personae_ of the morris dance had performed the _role_ of Robin Hood--next presented himself to receive his chapter of instructions.

This worthy had doffed his tunic of Kendal green, and now figured in his proper costume--a jerkin of grey homespun russet, with wide petticoat breeches reaching to mid thigh. The green woollen stockings, in which he had personated the outlaw, still appeared upon his legs--with a pair of heavy hobnailed buskins on his feet. On his head was the high-crowned hat worn at the _fete_, with a portion of the plume of c.o.c.k's feathers still sticking behind its band of scarlet coloured tape.

Altogether the costume of the woodman was not inelegant; and the wearer affected a certain air of rustic dandyism, which showed him conceited of his personal appearance.

He had but slight reason for this vanity, however. At the _fete_ he had proved himself but a poor representative of the chivalrous outlaw of Sherwood-Forest; and, now that he stood partially plucked of his borrowed feathers, he looked altogether unlike the man, whom the beautiful Bet Dancey would have chosen for her champion.

It was a countenance, though naturally of an evil aspect, more sullen than sinister; while the glance of a watery otter-like eye, along with a certain expression of cowardice, betrayed insincerity.

Will Walford was evidently a man not to be trusted--very far. He appeared like one who, to gratify a pa.s.sion, would turn traitor upon a partisan.

It was just such a suspicion of his character that hindered Henry Holtspur from revealing to him the secret contained within those half-dozen letters--which he now entrusted to him for delivery, after giving him the names of the gentlemen for whom they were intended.

With a promise to perform the duty--apparently sincere--the woodman walked out of the room; but, as he turned off into the shadowy hall, a glance flung back over his shoulder betrayed some feeling towards his patron, anything but friendly.

Still more surly was the look cast upon the young Indian, as the latter--apparently with an unwilling grace--presented him with the parting cup.

There was no word spoken, no health drunk--neither of master, nor man.

The ale vessel was emptied in sullen silence; and then thanklessly tossed back into the hands from which it had been received.