So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause upon his aim, Locksley stepped to the appointed station, and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at the mark. He was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left the bowstring, yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer to the white spot which marked the centre than that of Hubert.

“By the light of heaven!” said Prince John to Hubert, “an thou suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows!”

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. “An your highness were to hang me,” he said, “a man can but do his best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow⁠—”

“The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!” interrupted John, “shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for thee!”