nags. This is a worse business than meeting the mercer."
"Draw your sword," answered the lady, "and pierce my bosom with it, rather than I should fall into his hands!"
"I would rather by a thousand times," answered Wayland, "pass it through his body, or even mine own. But to say truth, fighting is not my best point, though I can look on cold iron like another when needs must be. And indeed, as for my sword--(put on, I pray you)--it is a poor Provant rapier, and I warrant you he has a special Toledo. He has a serving-man, too, and I think it is the drunken ruffian Lambourne! upon the horse on which men say--(I pray you heartily to put on)--he did the great robbery of the west country grazier. It is not that I fear either Varney or Lambourne in a good cause--(your palfrey will go yet faster if you urge him)--but yet--(nay, I pray you let him not break off into a gallop, lest they should see we fear them, and give chase--keep him only at the full trot)--but yet, though I fear them not, I would we were well rid of them, and that rather by policy than by violence. Could we once reach the party before us, we may herd among them, and pass unobserved, unless Varney be really come in express pursuit of us, and then, happy man be his dole!"
While he thus spoke, he alternately urged and restrained his horse, desirous to maintain the fleetest pace that was consistent with the idea of an ordinary journey on the road, but to avoid such
