“I trust it may be profitable to Sir Hugh in the end,” Jocelyn said; “and if not, he will reap his reward hereafter.”

“It is not unlikely we may encounter him, as he now dwells near Edmonton, and is frequently on the road,” Dick said; “and if so, I will point him out to you, I have some slight acquaintance with him, having often served him in my master’s shop in Paul’s Churchyard.  Talking of Edmonton, with your permission, Sir, we will break our fast at the Bell,[1] where I am known, and where you will be well served.  The host is a jovial fellow and trusty, and may give us information which will be useful before we proceed on our perilous expedition to Theobalds.”

“I care not how soon we arrive there,” Jocelyn cried; “for the morning has so quickened my appetite, that the bare idea of thy host’s good cheer makes all delay in attacking it unsupportable.”

“I am entirely of your opinion, Sir,” Dick said, smacking his lips.  “At the Bell at Edmonton we are sure of fresh fish from the Lea, fresh eggs from the farm-yard, and stout ale from the cellar; and if these three things do not constitute a good breakfast, I know not what others do.  So let us be jogging onwards.  We have barely two miles to ride.  Five minutes to Tottenham; ten to Edmonton; ’tis done!”

It was not, however, accomplished quite so soon as Dick anticipated.  Ere fifty yards were traversed, they were brought to a stop by an unlooked-for incident.

Suddenly emerging from a thick covert of wood, which had concealed him from view, a horseman planted himself directly in their path; ordering them in a loud, authoritative voice, to stand; and enforcing attention to the injunction by levelling a caliver at Jocelyn’s head.

The appearance of this personage was as mysterious as formidable.  The upper part of his features was concealed by a black mask.  His habiliments were sable; and the colour of his powerful steed was sable likewise.  Boots, cap, cloak, and feather, were all of the same dusky hue.  His frame was strongly built, and besides the caliver he was armed with sword and poniard.  Altogether, he constituted an unpleasant obstacle in the way.

Dick Taverner was not able to render much assistance on the occasion.  The suddenness with which the masked horseman burst forth upon them scared his horse; and the animal becoming unmanageable, began to rear, and finally threw its rider to the ground—­luckily without doing him much damage.

Meanwhile the horseman, lowering his caliver, thus addressed Jocelyn, who, taking him for a robber, was prepared to resist the attack.

“You are mistaken in me, Master Jocelyn Mounchensey,” he said; “I have no design upon your purse.  I call upon you to surrender yourself my prisoner.”

“Never, with life,” the young man replied.  “In spite of your disguise, I recognise you as one of Sir Giles Mompesson’s myrmidons; and you may conclude from our former encounter, whether my resistance will be determined or not.”