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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Sir Nigel"


"I have prayed you to take ruth, and indeed I can do no more; but
ere I go back to the forest I would rede you to be on your guard
lest you lose your bag once more. Wot you how I took it, archer?
Nay, it was simple enough, and may happen again, so I make it
clear to you. I had this knife in my sleeve, and though it is
small it is very sharp. I slipped it down like this. Then when I
seemed to weep with my face against the saddle, I cut down like
this--"
In an instant she had shorn through the stirrup leather which
bound her man, and he, diving under the belly of the horse, had
slipped like a snake into the brushwood. In passing he had struck
Pommers from beneath, and the great horse, enraged and insulted,
was rearing high, with two men hanging to his bridle. When at
last he had calmed there was no sign left of the "Wild Man" or of
his wife. In vain did Aylward, an arrow on his string, run here
and there among the great trees and peer down the shadowy glades.
When he returned he and his master cast a shamefaced glance at
each other.
"I trust that we are better soldiers than jailers," said Aylward,
as he climbed on his pony.
But Nigel's frown relaxed into a smile. "At least we have gained
back what we lost," said he. "Here I place it on the pommel of my
saddle, and I shall not take my eyes from it until we are safe in
Guildford town.


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