"Boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight. "Could ye not see it was a wench? She in the murrey-coloured mantle—she that broke her fast with water, rogue—where is she?"
"Nay, the saints bless us! Master John, ye called him," said the host. "Well, I thought none evil. He is gone. I saw him—her—I saw her in the stable a good hour agone; 'a was saddling a grey horse."
"Now, by the rood!" cried Sir Daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more."
"Sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of England is elsewhere being lost and won."
"It is well said," replied Sir Daniel. "Selden, fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down, I care not what it cost; but, at my returning, let me find her at the Moat House. Be it upon your head. And now, sir messenger, we march."
And the troop broke into a good trot, and Selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of Kettley, with the staring villagers.
