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Then sprang grim Roger, dagger aloft, but swifter than he, the knight's sword swung; flat fell that long blade on Roger's bascinet, wielded by an arm so strong that Roger, staggering aside, rolled upon the ling, and thereafter, sat up, round-eyed and fearful: "O master!" he panted, "here is none of honest flesh and blood, 'tis Hob-gob himself, as I did warn thee.
"Nay but, lord how shall honest flesh and blood go a-vanishing away into thin air whiles a man but blinketh an eye?" "The ground hath sudden slope thereabouts, belike." "Nay, yonder was some arch-wizard, master the Man o' the Oak, or Hob-gob himself. Saint Cuthbert shield us, say I yon was for sure a spirit damned " "Hark!
"Lord!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him, "yonder certes was Hob-gob! Forsooth ne'er saw I night the like o' this! How think ye of yon devilish things? Here was it one moment, and lo! in the twinkle of an eye it is not. How think ye, master?" "I do think 'twas some roving knight."
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