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 prevented him from discovering that the most important of his captives had made his escape.

"Gallants of England," said Front-de-Bœuf, "how relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone?—Are ye yet aware what your surquedy and outrecuidance merit, for scoffing at the entertainment of a prince of the house of Anjou?—Have ye forgotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitality of the royal John? By God and St Dennis, an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of you!—Speak out, ye Saxon dogs—what bid ye for your worthless lives?—How say you, you of Rotherwood?"

"Not a doit, I," answered poor Wamba—"and for hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy turvy, they say, ever since the biggin was bound first round my head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restore it again."