Of the Bishop’s Quandary
my temple, and the Bishop’s face, looking devilishly wicked, smirking into mine!
The thing took me sharply aback, and there was I, staring like a fool, and, for once in my life, with never a word to say for myself. But not so the Bishop. “’Tis a pretty sort of triangular duel,” says he pleasantly, “in which it seems I have the least to lose. But I trust it may be averted with a little discretion and humility. Drop your weapon,” says he sharply.
He had me as safe as a fowl trussed for the table, and I could do nothing but follow his order. Thereupon the two cravens, coming to themselves, and eager to be quit with sound skins and full purses, whipped round their horses and made off; and the Bishop and I were left together in the road. My lord regarded me maliciously, and at last, breaking into a something foolish laugh, I found my tongue. “Why, one gentleman of the road to rob another!” says I. “’Tis monstrous, my lord.”
“You will have a better knowledge of the etiquette than myself, who am but a novice, Ryder,” says he, mightily pleased with himself
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