Chapter 10 - Page 2

added, "why should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?"

"Nay, Sir Daniel," said Dick, "but where the master biddeth there
will the dog go. It is well known this priest is but your
instrument. I speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies.
Even as I speak, so would I be answered. And answer get I none!
Ye but put more questions. I rede ye be ware, Sir Daniel; for in
this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my doubts."

"I will answer you fairly, Master Richard," said the knight. "Were
I to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, I were no honest man.
But I will be just even in anger. Come to me with these words when
y' are grown and come to man's estate, and I am no longer your
guardian, and so helpless to resent them. Come to me then, and I
will answer you as ye merit, with a buffet in the mouth. Till then
ye have two courses: either swallow me down these insults, keep a
silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that fed and
fought for your infancy; or else - the door standeth open, the
woods are full of mine enemies - go."

The spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with
which they were accompanied, staggered Dick; and yet he could not
but observe that he had got no answer.

"I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, than to believe you,"
he replied. "Assure me ye are free from this."

"Will ye take my word of honour, Dick?" inquired the knight.

"That would I," answered the lad.

"I give it you," returned Sir Daniel. "Upon my word of honour,
upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, and as I shall answer for my
deeds hereafter, I had no hand nor portion in your father's death."

He extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly. Neither of them
observed the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and
false oath, had half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and
remorse.

"Ah," cried Dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to
pardon me! I was a churl, indeed, to doubt of you. But ye have my
hand upon it; I will doubt no more."

"Nay, Dick," replied Sir Daniel, "y' are forgiven. Ye know not the
world and its calumnious nature."

"I was the more to blame," added Dick, "in that the rogues pointed,
not directly at yourself, but at Sir Oliver."

As he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle
of the last word. This tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man
had fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his
limbs were relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when
Dick's eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like
some wild animal, and buried his face in his hands.

Sir Daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the