A big man, no longer young, with a beak of a nose and a waggish yet formidable mouth, a quite young man and a young woman, and the other two falconer and helper, carrying the hawks. They would go pacing by. But the big man always spoke, sitting his big horse, to woodchoppers and ditchers and thatchers, charcoal burners and the like! It was as though one stopped to observe a robin or wren or blackbird. “Cousin bird, what have you to say to the so-much-more-than-bird observing you?” So now he drew rein and gave greeting. “Hey, woodchopper, a fine day for felling!” “Aye, it is, your honour!” “You fell for old Master Cuddington? He should stir out, he should go hawking! Is your mate there weeping or ugly that she sits turned away, and her face in her hand?” “It is her way. She means nothing.” “She seems a fine lass--should not be in the dumps! Hey, my girl!--No?” “_Robins and wrens must not be perverse_,” the big man said sharply. “Lift your head, woman, or I shall think you’re hiding the plague!” She turned upon him a twisted face. Brown she was and dressed after another fashion than on a supper time in Middle Forest when the June eve was cool and a fire crinkled on the hearth, and Ailsa brought more wine, and Robert Somerville said, “Morgen Fay--and hath she not look of the name?” Brown and dressed poorly and changed, and yet Sir Humphrey Somerville stared. “I’ve seen you before, but where? Oh, now I know where! Well, and is it so!” He laughed, he seemed about to descend from his horse and enter into talk, and then to bethink himself, looking sidewise at his daughter and her lover. At last it was, within himself, “I’ll think a while and come quietly again. To-morrow, aye, to-morrow!” Aloud he said, “Flower garden, and something about a witch--but all women are witches! And so you live now on this side of the hills? And now I remember me something of a letter from my cousin, and a great trouble you were in!” He looked from her to Richard Englefield, but having no knowledge there, saw only a brown-gold woodchopper. Taking a noble from his pouch he spun it down upon the ground between them. “Old Cuddington pays poorly. Seest it? Vanish not between to-day and to-morrow, Egyptian!” He backed his big horse; he and his daughter and her lover and the men with the hawks rode on through the wood. Drooping branches came between; they were hidden, they were gone. “He thinks that I could not nor would. But I can and do!” She stood. “It is Somerville’s cousin. Once I feasted him in the house by the river.” They looked deep into the deep wood, they looked to the cot from which came a tranquil blue feather of smoke. Then said Englefield, “It is naught but travel again! Beyond this wood runs the wold for a long way, then we drop to the sea and to fishing villages. Come, then! The day is good, the night is starry.” “Two Egyptians over the wold.”