f among the sheriff's men, knocking down one, breaking the ribs of
another, dislocating the shoulder of a third, flattening the nose of
a fourth, cracking the skull of a fifth, and pitching a sixth into the
river, till the few, who were lucky enough to escape with whole bones,
clapped spurs to their horses and fled for their lives, under a farewell
volley of arrows.

Sir Ralph's squire, meanwhile, was glad of the excuse of attending
his master's wound to absent himself from the battle; and put the poor
knight to a great deal of unnecessary pain by making as long a business
as possible of extracting the arrow, which he had not accomplished when
Matilda, approaching, extracted it with great facility, and bound up
the wound with her scarf, saying, "I reclaim my arrow, sir knight, which
struck where I aimed it, to admonish you to desist from your enterprise.
I could as easily have lodged it in your heart."

"It did not need," said the knight, with rueful gallantry; "you have
lodged one there already."

"If you mean to say that you love me," said Matilda, "it is more than I
ever shall you: but if you will show your love by no further interfering
with mine, you will at least merit my gratitude."

The knight made a wry face under the double pain of heart and
body caused at the same moment by the material or martial, and the
metaphorical or erotic arrow, of which the latter was thus barbed by a
declaration more candid than flattering; but he did not choose to put
in any such claim to the lady's gratitude as would bar all hopes of her
love: he therefore remained silent; and the lady and her escort, leaving
him and the sheriff to the care of the squire, rode on till they came in
sight of Arlingford Castle, when they parted in several directions. The
friar rode off alone; and after the foresters had lost sight of him they
heard his voice through the twilight, singing,--

A staff, a staff, of a young oak graff,
That is both stoure and stiff,
Is all a good friar can needs desire
To shrive a proud sheriffe.
And thou, fine fellowe, who hast tasted so
Of the forester's greenwood game,
Wilt be in no haste thy time to waste
In seeking more taste of the same:
Or this can I read thee, and riddle thee well,
Thou hadst better by far be the devil in hell,
Than the sheriff of Nottinghame.

CHAPTER VII

Now, master sheriff, what's your will with me?
--Henry IV.

Matilda had carried