se are
supposed to be the seats in the hall of this vanished stronghold whereon
Robin and Little John sat delivering judgment on matters of forest law.

Another chronicle gives these stones as being the scene of a wondrous
leap done by Robin, to show his men that strength and will were his yet.
"Robin Hood's stride," folks say.

One thing is sure--that Prince John did not easily forgive or forget
him. After many attempts made upon them at Haddon--some desperate enough
in all conscience, Robin and his men were allowed to be at peace. In one
of these encounters Robin was sorely wounded; and none but Little John
knew of it.

The wound was in Robin's breast, and looked but a small place. It bled
little, yet would not heal; and slowly became inflamed in wider circles.
Inwardly it burned him as with a consuming fire, his strength was sapped
out from him and his eyes began to lose their shrewdness. No longer
could he split an arrow at forty paces, as in olden days.

At last he took Little John on one side. "Dear heart," said he, "I do
not feel able to shoot another arrow, and soon the rest will know I am
stricken sore. I have it in me to return to London and there give myself
to the Prince. Mayhap if I did this he would give you all amnesty here."

"Sooner would I see you dead than you should do such a thing," cried
Little John; "I swear it by my soul and by my body! Now listen, dear
master, and I will tell you that I have heard of a wondrous cure for
thee. An old beggar came this morn through the woods, and, strangely,
when he spied me, asked if there was not one amongst us ill and
hopeless."

"This beggar--where is he?"

"He waits below," said Little John, hurriedly. "I bethought me to talk
with Stuteley on the matter. The beggar told me that the Abbess of
Kirklees had stayed him as he was travelling past her Priory: 'Go to
Haddon, brother, and there you will find Robin Hood sick unto death. Say
that in the woods near by there is one who is practising magic upon him,
having made a little image of Robin Hood. At each change of the moon
this rascal doth stick a needle into the waxen heart of this image, and
so doth Robin slowly die. Tell him that the name of the man is Simeon
Carfax.'"

"Ay, by my soul, but I thought as much. What villainy! What foul
villainy! Get me a horse, John, and one each for thyself and Stuteley."

The beggar had gone when they went to the hall. None had offered to stay
him. "Let us go quietl