"
CHAPTER VII
Till the set of sun and the dusk of the evening the spy pursued the
search, now stumbling over a tree root, now catching his foot in a
straggling vine, and every now and then sorely struck in the face by
the underbrush through which he pushed his way. But, although he was
once very near the concealed horses and hound, he found nothing to
reward him. The return to the little vale was even more tiresome than
the journey from it had been. No moon would shine for an hour, and it
was quite dark when he once more reached the oak in which Hugo and
Humphrey had stayed all day, but from which they had a few moments
before descended.
In climbing the tree, after setting Walter Skinner's horse loose,
Humphrey had noticed a hollow in one of the lower branches.
"Perchance," he said, "a hedgehog may lodge therein. Knowest thou the
ways of hedgehogs?"
"Nay," returned Hugo, indifferently.
"The lad hath lost heart," said Humphrey to himself, "and all because
of the words of this little snipe of a king's man and the slowness of
the journey. I will not seem to see it.
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