p's man, whom I had met on the road two days
ago, but whom, as well as my promise to meet him to-day, I had since
clean forgotten. He hailed me gaily, as if he expected me.

"Welcome, lad; you are a man of your word. I knew you would come. Come
and join us, there is brave sport afoot."

I coloured up, to be thus commended for what I did not merit.

"Indeed," said I, "I--I am glad to meet you again, but--but (how I
stammered), just now I am looking for my friend."

"What! Have you not done your errand?" said he. "You told me it was in
Oxford."

"It was. I have done it--but I left a friend here. Mine host," said I,
turning to the man of the place, "is my comrade astir yet?"

The host crammed his apron in his mouth to keep in a laugh.

"Astir! Sir Ludar astir! I warrant thee half the bucks in Shotover
Wood are astir too before now."

"What!" said I, my face falling suddenly, "is he gone then?"

"An hour since; and by your leave, young sir," added mine host, "I would
take leave to remind your grandeur that the score of last night's
supper, and a trifle my lord took for his breakfast, with the shoeing
and meat of the horse, and the price of your night's lodging, awaits
your noble acquittance."

"Gone!" cried I, not heeding all the rest. "And did he leave aught for
me?"

"I doubt not he left his blessing, but nothing else."

"But my cloak, he had my cloak."

"If he have it not still, ay, and the nag too, it will be because he has
met a stronger man than ever I saw yet on earth," said mine host.

"But the cloak!" roared I, "that cloak had papers in it; it was--"

Here the Bishop's man put down his mug and pricked up his ears.

"Which way did he go?" cried I. "Saddle me my horse. I must overtake
him or all is lost."

"Papers?" said the Bishop's man. "What sort of papers, prithee?"

"I know not," said I. "Oh, that cursed cloak!"

"Harkee, my lad," said the man sternly, "answer me two questions, if you
will."

He laid hold of my arm, and looked so menacing that I was fairly taken
aback.

"And if I do not," said I, as I began suddenly to see what it all led
to.

"Then in the Queen's name I shall know what to do with you," said he,
beckoning to his three men, who rose and approached me.

I was fairly in a corner now, for a man who held the Queen's warrant was
not one lightly to be resisted. Yet what could I tell him?

"Let me hear your questions," said I, as civilly as I could, and edgin