oseted with the Sheriff.

They were having a tidying of the rooms in honor of the Bishop's visit.
Whilst Scarlett impatiently waited the good pleasure of Master Carfax
the maids were busy carrying many things to and fro; fresh rushes to
strew my lord's rooms, candles and tapers, silks and cloths, and brown
ewers of water. All the rubbish and sweepings of the floors were borne
out in great baskets to the courtyard.

One of the maids, a plump, roguish, lazy wench, would only carry her
basket so far as the hearth of the hall. A fire was there, why not use
it? Also she could ogle and throw sidelong looks at Master Scarlett,
who, for his beard and thirty-five grave years, was none so bad a man.

This girl was throwing into the open hearth a lot of ends of silk and
combings from her mistress's room. She tossed the rubbish on the fire,
at the same time eyeing Master Scarlett. Then, finding that he would not
notice her, she poutingly returned with her basket upon a fresh journey.

Scarlett came over to the fire to pick up some of the burning scraps.
They were drifting over the hearth into the room dangerously, thanks to
the maid's carelessness.

He found in his hand a half-burned piece of parchment, which still
fizzled and crackled in quaint malicious fashion.

Upon the parchment was an awkward writing, and some of the words showed
up very black under the heat. Half idly, Scarlett tried to make sense of
them:

"This ... dear child Marian, ... her affectionate father ... Court of
... in London town."

So far did Master Scarlett read before suddenly the beginnings of the
truth flashed upon him. This was the very letter which he had borne to
Marian.

How had it come into the castle? By what strange magic? Could Marian
have carried it here herself?

He remembered that she had given it to Robin, and that he had put it
into his bosom.

"Mistress, you seem indeed to be very busy this day," said Master
Scarlett, affably, to the girl next time she appeared. "Do you prepare
me a chamber, for it seems that I am to wait here for a week at least."

"I am tidying my mistress's room, and have had hard work I promise you,"
replied the girl, impudently. "Mayhap you will give me a help whilst you
wait, Sir Taciturn? This is the fifth basket of rubbish I have borne
from the demoiselle Marie's little cupboard."

"I will readily help you if you will help me," said Scarlett,
pleasantly. "Canst tell me who wrote this little paper? The