what he could there discern greatly sharpened his curiosity.
"That sister of thine, Wayland," he said, "has a fair neck to have been born in a smithy, and a pretty taper hand to have been used for twirling a spindle--faith, I'll believe in your relationship when the crow's egg is hatched into a cygnet."
"Go to," said Wayland, "thou art a prating boy, and should be breeched for thine assurance."
"Well," said the imp, drawing off, "all I say is--remember you have kept a secret from me, and if I give thee not a Roland for thine Oliver, my name is not Dickon Sludge!"
This threat, and the distance at which Hobgoblin kept from him for the rest of the way, alarmed Wayland very much, and he suggested to his pretended sister that, on pretext of weariness, she should express a desire to stop two or three miles short of the fair town of Warwick, promising to rejoin the troop in the morning. A small village inn afforded them a resting-place, and it was with secret pleasure that Wayland saw the whole party, including Dickon, pass on, after a courteous farewell, and leave them behind.
"To-morrow, madam," he said to his charge, "we will, with your leave, again start early, and reach Kenilworth before the rout which are to assemble there."
The Countess gave assent to the proposal of her faithful guide; but, somewhat to his surprise, said nothing further on the subject, which left Wayland under the disagreeable uncertainty whether or no
