"Lady," said he, "where am I?"
"Hush, poor Motley!" whispered the maid. "Thou didst fall 'gainst the door
yonder. But speak low, they that seek thy life may yet be nigh."
"Nay, then," quoth Jocelyn, reaching for his sword, "I must out and aid my
comrades."
"Alack!" sighed the old woman. "Thy comrades do without lie all slain save
one that groaneth--hearken!"
"O, woe!" mourned a quavering voice beyond the door. "O, woe, sore hurted I
be, and like to die--and I a tanner!"
Very heedfully, Jocelyn unbarred the door, and peering into the narrow
street, found it deserted and empty save for certain outstretched forms
that stirred not; looking down on these dim shapes he knew one for Rick the
Ploughman, whose ploughing days were sped and, huddled in a corner hard by,
he found Will the Tanner, who groaned fitfully; but of Sir Pertinax and
Gurth he saw nothing. So Jocelyn made shift to bear the Tanner within the
house, and here Will, finding his hurts of small account, sat up, and while
the wise old woman bandaged his wound, answered Jocelyn's eager questions,
and told how Sir Pertinax and Gurth the Dyer had broken through their
assailants and made good their escape.
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