Chapter 32

CHAPTER VII - DICK'S REVENGE

The next morning Dick was afoot before the sun, and having dressed
himself to the best advantage with the aid of the Lord Foxham's
baggage, and got good reports of Joan, he set forth on foot to walk
away his impatience.

For some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting
to arms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of
torches; but gradually he strolled further afield, and at length
passed clean beyond the outposts, and walked alone in the frozen
forest, waiting for the sun.

His thoughts were both quiet and happy. His brief favour with the
Duke he could not find it in his heart to mourn; with Joan to wife,
and my Lord Foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily
upon the future; and in the past he found but little to regret.

As he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning
grew more clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a
little scathing wind blew up the frozen snow. He turned to go
home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind, a
tree.

"Stand!" he cried. "Who goes?"

The figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person. It
was arrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but
Dick, in an instant, recognised Sir Daniel.

He strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his
hand in his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly
awaited his approach.

"Well, Dickon," said Sir Daniel, "how is it to be? Do ye make war
upon the fallen?"

"I made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "I was your true
friend until ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it
greedily."

"Nay - self-defence," replied the knight. "And now, boy, the news
of this battle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine
own wood, have broken me beyond all help. I go to Holywood for
sanctuary; thence overseas, with what I can carry, and to begin
life again in Burgundy or France."

"Ye may not go to Holywood," said Dick.

"How! May not?" asked the knight.

"Look ye, Sir Daniel, this is my marriage morn," said Dick; "and
yon sun that is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone
for me. Your life is forfeit - doubly forfeit, for my father's
death and your own practices to meward. But I myself have done
amiss; I have brought about men's deaths; and upon this glad day I
will be neither judge nor hangman. An ye were the devil, I would
not lay a hand on you. An ye were the devil, ye might go where ye
will for me. Seek God's forgiveness; mine ye have freely. But to
go on to Holywood is different. I carry arms for York, and I will
suffer no spy within their lines. Hold it, then,