Hugo and Humphrey did not return till toward evening. They had caught
some fish in the Trent and roasted them on the coals for their dinner,
and afterward had come leisurely back, enjoying the scenes and sights
of the marsh.
From his covert Walter Skinner saw them come, each leading a horse
which he had stopped to get from the islet pasture, while Fleetfoot
lagged behind on a little hunting expedition of his own. The spy drew
his bow and sighted. "Yea," he said to himself, "no doubt I can do it.
And what is an arrow wound more or less when one would win the favor of
the king? The lad or his servant may die of it. But what is death? It
is e'en what every man sooner or later must meet. And it is the king's
favor I will have, come what may to these runaways." Then he laid down
the bow and arrow and took a long drink from his horn. "When the flames
shoot high and they be in the strong light of the blaze, then will I
shoot," he said. "And it is their own fault if they be hit. They should
have remained in the castle where Robert Sadler arriveth this same
night."
Hugo and Humphrey had not before been on such thoroughly amicable terms
as they were to-night.
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