It was not until he was footsore and out
of breath that he stopped with his hand to his side, and
considered that his own business had still to be done, and that it
was time once more that he should seek the road to Guildford.
Meantime Aylward had found his own rough means of consoling the
woman in the road, who stood sobbing with her face against the
side of Pommers' saddle.
"Nay, weep not, my pretty one," said he. "It brings the tears to
my own eyes to see them stream from thine."
"Alas! good archer, he was the best of fathers, so gentle and so
kind! Had you but known him, you must have loved him."
"Tut, tut! he will suffer no scathe. Squire Nigel will bring him
back to you anon."
"No, no, I shall never see him more. Hold me, archer, or I fall!"
Aylward pressed his ready arm round the supple waist. The
fainting woman leaned with her hand upon his shoulder. Her pale
face looked past him, and it was some new light in her eyes, a
flash of expectancy, of triumph, of wicked joy, which gave him
sudden warning of his danger.
He shook her off and sprang to one side, but only just in time to
avoid a crashing blow from a great club in the hands of a man even
taller and stronger than himself. He had one quick vision of
great white teeth clenched in grim ferocity, a wild flying beard
and blazing wild-beast eyes. The next instant he had closed,
ducking his head beneath another swing of that murderous cudgel.
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