e, slim, dark-haired, and with regular
features.

"My name is my own," said Robin to him, "and I do not like your
answering of a plain question. Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, or
you will one day be whipped."

"Not by you, forester," cried the page, pulling out a little sword. "Put
up your hands, or draw your weapon. You shall have such answering now as
you can understand."

He flourished his point valiantly; and Robin saw nothing for it but to
draw also. The page thereupon engaged him quite fiercely; but Robin soon
perceived that the lad was no great master of the art of fencing.

Still, he played prettily, and to end it Robin allowed himself to be
pricked on the hand. "Are you satisfied, fellow?" said the page, seeing
the blood rise to the wound.

"Ay, honestly," said Robin, "and now, perhaps, you will grant me the
privilege of knowing to whom I owe this scratch?"

"I am Gilbert of Blois," replied the page, with dignity; and again his
voice troubled Robin sorely. He was certain that he had met with it
before; but this name was strange to his ears.

"What do you in the greenwood at such an hour, good Master Gilbert?"

The lad considered his answer, whilst wiping his sword daintily with a
pretty kerchief. The action brought a dim confused memory to Robin--a
blurred recollection of that scene discovered in the wizard's crystal
troubled his thoughts. Meanwhile the little page had condescended to
glance upon him.

"Forester," said he, somewhat awkwardly, "can you tell me--do you know
aught of one Robin o' th' Hood? He is believed to have been killed in
the fall o' last year, and truly they brought a body into Nottingham. He
was a merry youth."

"This is brother to my Marian!" cried Robin, inwardly. "Ay, for sure,
'tis the lad Fitzwalter, and no Gilbert of Bloist Yet Warrenton did not
tell me that there was a brother."

He replied to the page. "Did not this fellow, this Robin, have other
name? Robin o' th' Hood--why, all of them wear their capes and hoods
nowadays--how can such a man as I know him whom you seek, to say whether
he be dead or alive?"

"Forester, he was much like to you; but had no beard, nor was he quite
so uncouth as you. I mean no offence. I saw him but twice; but he seemed
a lovable fellow. I remember that some called him Robin of Locksley."

"I knew him right well," said Robin, in decided tones. "Come with me,
Master Gilbert, and you shall hear of him."

"He lives, then?" The pag