"Mater caelorum!" moaned Campian; while Parsons, who, as all the world
knows, was a blustering bully enough (at least with his tongue), asked:
What a murrain right had he to stop honest folks on the queen's highway?
confirming the same with a mighty oath, which he set down as peccatum
veniale, on account of the sudden necessity; nay, indeed fraus pia, as
proper to support the character of that valiant gentleman of Wales, Mr.
Evan Morgans. But the horseman, taking no notice of his hint, dashed
across the nose of Eustace Leigh's horse, with a "Hillo, old lad! where
ridest so early?" and peering down for a moment into the ruts of the
narrow track-way, struck spurs into his horse, shouting, "A fresh
slot! right away for Hartland! Forward, gentlemen all! follow, follow,
follow!"

"Who is this roysterer?" asked Parsons, loftily.

"Will Cary, of Clovelly; an awful heretic: and here come more behind."

And as he spoke four or five more mounted gallants plunged in and out of
the great dikes, and thundered on behind the party; whose horses, quite
understanding what game was up, burst into full gallop, neighing and
squealing; and in another minute the hapless Jesuits were hurling along
over moor and moss after a "hart of grease."

Parsons, who, though a vulgar bully, was no coward, supported the
character of Mr. Evan Morgans well enough; and he would have really
enjoyed himself, had he not been in agonies of fear lest those precious
saddle-bags in front of him should break from their lashings, and
rolling to the earth, expose to the hoofs of heretic horses, perhaps to
the gaze of heretic eyes, such a cargo of bulls, dispensations, secret
correspondences, seditious tracts, and so forth, that at the very