day," replied Robin.

"Follow me," said the servant, briefly. He waited until they were safely
inside; then closed the doors carefully. He led them across the court to
the inner doors.

Here another fellow was in waiting, also carrying a light. "These are
travellers from Nottingham, desiring audience of Master Gamewell,"
observed the first servant.

"Your names, gentles?" asked the second.

"I am Robin o' th' Hood, and this is Master Gilbert of Blois," said
Robin, at once.

They were escorted into the great hall, and there, sat beside the open
hearth, was old Squire George. He made a pathetic figure. Robin felt his
heart go out to him.

Yet even when he had satisfied himself in a single glance as to the
identity of one of the late-coming guests, Montfichet gave no sign. His
was a strange nature, and he could not forgive Robin his innocent
deceit.

"Sir," said Robin, respectfully, "I do feel shame in coming before you
without waiting for your word of welcome. My errand must be my excuse."

"'Tis Robin Fitzooth!" said old Montfichet, then. "I was told that you
had been killed long since."

"Robin Fitzooth is truly dead, sir. Behold in his place Robin o' th'
Hood. I come to ask a service at your hands for the memory of this dead
man, and in redemption of your promise given to him once in Nottingham."

"Ask it, friend."

The Squire's tones were kinder. Looking at him, Robin saw that he had
aged. There were no longer signs of that fastidious attention to his
apparel which had characterized Montfichet of Gamewell.

"There is, sir, a maid who, losing her father on a journey to London,
hath had great trouble put upon her by the Sheriff. Monceux would
persecute her, in short; and she has flown from the city. Now, I would
ask an asylum for her here."

"She shall be made welcome and given full freedom of Gamewell,"
answered Montfichet, rising. "I shall rejoice to see her here, in sooth,
for my days lack company. When will you bring her to me, Master Robin o'
th' Hood, and pray what makes you wear so strange a name?"

He spoke quite in his old manner, and half smiled at them. He glanced
toward Master Gilbert of Blois. "Is this your little esquire, young
Stuteley?" asked he, lifting his brows. "Truly he has grown out of all
memory."

Robin felt himself to be in an awkward fix. His eyes glanced from one to
the other. Marian, at last, took pity on his distress. "Good my lord,"
said she, with that pretty shake of he