The Black Arrow / Черная Стрела. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“No harm is done. I am not touchy, praise the saints.”

And at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of Sir Daniel’s trumpeter.

“Hark!” said Dick, “the tucket soundeth.”

“Ay,” said Matcham, “they have found my flight, and now I am unhorsed!” and he became pale as death.

“Nay, what cheer!” returned Dick. “Y’have a long start, and we are near the ferry. And it is I, methinks, that am unhorsed.”

“Alack, I shall be taken!” cried the fugitive.

“Dick, kind Dick, beseech ye help me but a little!”

“Why, now, what aileth thee?” said Dick. “Methinks I help you very patently. But my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! And see ye here, John Matcham – sith John Matcham is your name – I, Richard Shelton, tide what betideth, come what may[20 - come what may – (уст.) будь что будет], will see you safe in Holywood. The saints so do to me again if I default you.

Come, pick me up a good heart, Sir White-face. The way betters here; spur me the horse. Go faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can run like a deer.”

So, with the horse trotting hard, and Dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman’s hut.

Chapter III

The Fen Ferry

The river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets.

It was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful. The wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue.

A creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman’s hut lay snugly. It was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof.

Dick went to the door and opened it.

Within, upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man, but lean and shaken by the country fever.

“Hey, Master Shelton,” he said, “be ye for the ferry? Ill times, ill times! Look to yourself. There is a fellowship abroad. Ye were better turn round on your two heels and try the bridge.”

“Nay, time’s in the saddle,” answered Dick. “Time will ride, Hugh Ferryman. I am hot in haste.