However, we could not both have ridden the one, or worn the other, and we might perchance run less risk without them than with them.

As for the college cap and gown, my comrade nailed them with our keeper's two daggers on the outside of the door when we left, in token that here he bade farewell for ever to the life of a scholar.
It was scarcely three o'clock in the afternoon when we made good our escape.

Before sundown, thanks to my comrade's knowledge of the country (which was all the more wonderful that he had been only two months at Oxford), we had fetched a wide circuit round the north of the city, and were safe on the Berkshire side of the river beyond Wightham, on the road to Abingdon.
For four hours my comrade had paced at my side without a word, and I, finding nothing to say, had been silent too.

When, however, all danger from our pursuers was past, and night invited us to halt at the first convenient shelter, he stopped in the road and broke silence.
"Friend," said he, "what is your name ?" "Humphrey Dexter, at your service," said I.

"May I ask yours ?" "You may call me Sir Ludar," said he, gravely.