“Haro and help, and hue and cry, every true man!” said the mercer.  “I am withstood in seeking to recover mine own.”

“Thou swearest thy gods in vain, foul paynim,” said Wayland, “for I will through with mine purpose were death at the end on’t.  Nevertheless, know, thou false man of frail cambric and ferrateen, that I am he, even the pedlar, whom thou didst boast to meet on Maiden Castle moor, and despoil of his pack; wherefore betake thee to thy weapons presently.”

“I spoke but in jest, man,” said Goldthred; “I am an honest shopkeeper and citizen, who scorns to leap forth on any man from behind a hedge.”

“Then, by my faith, most puissant mercer,” answered Wayland, “I am sorry for my vow, which was, that wherever I met thee I would despoil thee of thy palfrey, and bestow it upon my leman, unless thou couldst defend it by blows of force.  But the vow is passed and registered, and all I can do for thee is to leave the horse at Donnington, in the nearest hostelry.”

“But I tell thee, friend,” said the mercer, “it is the very horse on which I was this day to carry Jane Thackham, of Shottesbrok, as far as the parish church yonder, to become Dame Goldthred.  She hath jumped out of the shot-window of old Gaffer Thackham’s grange; and lo ye, yonder she stands at the place where she should have met the palfrey, with her camlet riding-cloak and ivory-handled whip, like a picture of Lot’s wife.  I pray you, in good terms, let me have back the palfrey.”

“Grieved am I,” said Wayland, “as much for the fair damsel as for thee, most noble imp of muslin.  But vows must have their course; thou wilt find the palfrey at the Angel yonder at Donnington.  It is all I may do for thee with a safe conscience.”

“To the devil with thy conscience!” said the dismayed mercer.  “Wouldst thou have a bride walk to church on foot?”

“Thou mayest take her on thy crupper, Sir Goldthred,” answered Wayland; “it will take down thy steed’s mettle.”

“And how if you—­if you forget to leave my horse, as you propose?” said Goldthred, not without hesitation, for his soul was afraid within him.

“My pack shall be pledged for it—­yonder it lies with Giles Gosling, in his chamber with the damasked leathern hangings, stuffed full with velvet, single, double, treble-piled—­rash-taffeta, and parapa—­shag, damask, and mocado, plush, and grogram—­”

“Hold! hold!” exclaimed the mercer; “nay, if there be, in truth and sincerity, but the half of these wares—­but if ever I trust bumpkin with bonny Bayard again!”

“As you list for that, good Master Goldthred, and so good morrow to you—­and well parted,” he added, riding on cheerfully with the lady, while the discountenanced mercer rode back much slower than he came, pondering what excuse he should make to the disappointed bride, who stood waiting for her gallant groom in the midst of the king’s highway.

“Methought,” said the lady, as they rode on, “yonder fool stared at me as if he had some remembrance of me; yet I kept my muffler as high as I might.”