good or bad. Let her
send orders down to me; or do you come yourself, your legs are long
enough."

"Whether they are or not, Master Lance (and you know nothing of the
matter), they shall do your errand to-night, for love of the old knight
and his lady."

So Cisly Sellok, a kind of Derbyshire Camilla, who had won the smock
at the foot-race at Ashbourne, sprung forward towards the Castle with a
speed which few could have equalled.

"There goes a mettled wench," said Lance; "and now, naunt, give me the
old broadsword--it is above the bed-head--and my wood-knife; and I shall
do well enough."

"And what is to become of me?" bleated the unfortunate Mistress Deborah
Debbitch.

"You must remain here with my aunt, Mistress Deb; and, for old
acquaintance' sake, she will take care no harm befalls you; but take
heed how you attempt to break bounds."

So saying, and pondering in his own mind the task which he had
undertaken, the hardy forester strode down the moonlight glade, scarcely
hearing the blessings and cautions which Dame Ellesmere kept showering
after him. His thoughts were not altogether warlike. "What a tight ankle
the jade hath!--she trips it like a doe in summer over dew. Well, but
here are the huts--Let us to this gear.--Are ye all asleep, you dammers,
sinkers, and drift-drivers? turn out, ye subterranean badgers. Here is
your master, Sir Geoffrey, dead, for aught ye know or care. Do not you
see the beacon is unlit, and you sit there like so many asses?"

"Why," answered one of the miners, who now began to come out of their
huts--

"An he be dead,
He will eat no more bread."

"And you are like to eat none neither," said Lance; "for the works will
be presently stopped, and all of you turned off."

"Well, and what of it, Master Lance? As good play for nought as work
for nought. Here is four weeks we have scarce seen the colour of Sir
Geoffrey's coin; and you ask us to care whether he be dead or in life?
For you, that goes about, trotting upon your horse, and doing for work
what all men do for pleasure, it may be well enough; but it is another
matter to be leaving God's light, and burrowing all day and night in
darkness, like a toad in a hole--that's not to be done for nought, I
trow; and if Sir Geoffrey is dead, his soul will suffer for't; and if
he's alive, we'll have him in the Barmoot Court."

"Hark ye, gaffer," said Lance, "and take notice, my mates, all of you,"
for a considerable number of these