In less time than it takes to tell it, Peg was straight in the highwayman’s saddle; he was picked up by two of his men, bleeding, set before one of ’em, and off: My Lords and Gentlemen find themselves once more alone in the midst of Epstowe Forest, a-crawling about on their hands and knees a-gathering up their spilled guineas and trinkets by flash of tinder-box. Sir Percy, trying to explain to them who had been the means of their recovering their valuables and of putting the desperadoes to flight, cries out: “I tell you! we owe’t all to Sir Robin here! ’Slife, Gentlemen, I’d not have ventured to think of resistance had it not been for him. ’Twas he said, close in my ear, ‘fight,’ and by Gad! Sirs, he’s lost more’n any of us; the horse shot under him.” “The gray’s well lost teaching Tom Kidde he can’t terrify all the men in England,” answers the Beau from his sprawling search after his diamond snuff-box. “Ho, Sir Robin! Sir Robin! Sir Robin!” Sir Wyatt shouts it out, and the rest of the company take it up with a long, mellow cadence that echoes for a mile. “Answer man, for, by the faith, if we can’t pledge you here in anything but a lap of May-dew out of a primrose leaf, we’ll drink you such a bumper, an we reach the White Horse, as never was filled before! London’ll toast you at every dinner-table in Mayfair. Odzooks, Sir, were you the fashion yesterday, what will you be to-morrow!” This from Escombe. “Where is Sir Robin?” asks Percy. “He was beside me not five seconds since, but now, by my tinder, nor yet by the coming dawn, can I descry him,” shading his eyes with his hand and peering about, for of a truth ’tis close to four o’clock, and, notwithstanding the heavy clouds, the east begins to thrill with the touch of day. “Robin! Sir Robin! Ho, now! Think not to play a trick on us and presently spring from a greenwood tree,” says Wootton. “Sir Robin,” exclaims Percy loudly, “I pray you answer and leave not your friends to imagine evil.” “Tut, tut, ‘evil’,” puffs the Beau, rising from his knees. “Evil’ll never happen to him. Zounds! but my legs ache! He’s laughing in his sleeve now, hard by; Robin’s not one to court notice or praise—as modest a youth as I ever beheld.” “Worthy of Lady Peggy Burgoyne even, I suppose?” says Mr. Chalmers mischievously, as he adjusts his recovered fob. “I could embrace him for the rendering of me back my watch, but I think him a fool to eschew good company and make home alone to town.” “Jack,” says Percy, low, “I like not his quitting of us. ’Twas too sudden. I believe I’ll go a-hunting him,” pulling his rein as the cavalcade once more prepared to start. “Where?” asks Jack. “Bah! be not such a ninny; belike he’s off to his Lady, to win kisses off her lips by the rehearsal of his prowess. An a man chooses to flee me, I let him: do you the same, Percy; ’tis a good advice, I promise you!”