Christopher aimed and loosed, and so great was his skill--for there were few archers in England like to him--that the arrow pierced Maldon's fur cap and carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
"The next shall be two inches lower," he said, as he set another on the string.

"I waste no more good shafts." Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips and kissed it, muttering-- "I swear." But the oath he swore was very different to that which Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to meet guile with guile.
"Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go about my business, Christopher Harflete ?" he asked, with bitter irony.
"Why not ?" asked Christopher.

"Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle with me and my business.

To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my lady, and we do not seek your company on the road." Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
"Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely dare to break," said Christopher presently.

"What say you, Nurse ?" "I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be," answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbs were cramped.