'I see that you will start carving me anon, and take me to Monmouth's camp in sections.

Nay, nay, we shall have fighting enow without falling out among ourselves.

What houses are those on the left ?' 'The village of Swathling,' I replied.

'The lights of Bishopstoke lie to the right, in the hollow.' 'Then we are fifteen miles on our way, and methinks there is already some faint flush of dawn in the east.

Hullo, what have we here?
Beds must be scarce if folks sleep on the highways.' A dark blur which I had remarked upon the roadway in front of us had resolved itself as we approached into the figure of a man, stretched at full length, with his face downwards, and his head resting upon his crossed arms.
'Some reveler, mayhap, from the village inn,' I remarked.
'There's blood in the air,' said Saxon, raising up his beak-like nose like a vulture which scents carrion.