Again the "Wild Man" called, and again his mate replied.
A third time he summoned, as the deer bells to the doe in the
greenwood. Then with a rustle of brushwood and snapping of twigs
the woman was before them once more, tall, pale, graceful,
wonderful. She glanced neither at Aylward nor Nigel, but ran to
the side of her husband.
"Dear and sweet lord," she cried, "I trust they have done you no
hurt. I waited by the old ash, and my heart sank when you came
not."
"I have been taken at last, wife."
"Oh, cursed, cursed day! Let him go, kind, gentle sirs; do not
take him from me!"
"They will speak for me at Guildford," said the "Wild Man." "They
have sworn it. But hand them first the bag that you have taken."
She drew it out from under her loose cloak. "Here it is, gentle
sir. Indeed it went to my heart to take it, for you had mercy
upon me in my trouble. But now I am, as you see, in real and very
sore distress. Will you not have mercy now? Take ruth on us,
fair sir! On my knees I beg it of you, most gentle and kindly
Squire!"
Nigel had clutched his bag, and right glad he was to feel that the
treasures were all safe within it. "My proffer is given," said
he. "I will say what I can; but the issue rests with others. I
pray you to stand up, for indeed I cannot promise more."
"Then I must be content," said she, rising, with a composed face.
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