much the stronger, and soon the spy
lay prostrate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the long
poniard, ceased to breathe.

CHAPTER III

THE DEAD SPY

Throughout this furious and rapid passage, Lawless had looked on
helplessly, and even when all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to
his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the
distant bustle in the lower stories of the house, the old outlaw was
still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still
stupidly staring on the face of the dead man.

"It is well," said Dick at length; "they have not heard us, praise the
saints! But, now, what shall I do with this poor spy? At least, I will
take my tassel from his wallet."

So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of
money, the tassel, and a letter addressed to Lord Wensleydale, and
sealed with my Lord Shoreby's seal. The name awoke Dick's recollection;
and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. It
was short, but, to Dick's delight, it gave evident proof that Lord
Shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the House of York.

The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him,
and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able
to write these words upon a corner of the paper:

"My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is
ded? But let me rede you, marry not.

"JON AMEND-ALL."

He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then Lawless, who
had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering
returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his
robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. The sight of this
disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of
horror from young Shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed.

"Nay, I will have the credit for mine order," he hiccuped. "My jolly
boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother"; and then, shutting
his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to
thunder, in a formidable voice:

"If ye should drink the clary wine--"

"Peace, sot!" cried Dick, and thrust him hard against the wall. "In two
words--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine
than wit in him--in two words, and a-Mary's name, begone out of this
house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself,
but