But even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from which the shot had come.

When he had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with terror.
"Ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next." "Who hath done this, Bennet ?" Richard asked, still holding the arrow in his hand.
"Nay, the saints know," said Hatch.

"Here are a good two score Christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and I.

He has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere I pay mine.
Sir Daniel driveth over-hard." "This is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his hand.
"Ay, by my faith!" cried Bennet.

"Black, and black-feathered.