t to bleed
him. And so she did bleed him, but the vein she opened was not one of
those that lie close and blue beneath the skin; deeper she cut than
that, for she opened one of those veins through which the bright red
blood runs leaping from the heart. Of this Robin knew not; for, though
he saw the blood flow, it did not come fast enough to make him think
that there was anything ill in it.

Having done this vile deed, the Prioress turned and left her cousin,
locking the door behind her. All that livelong day the blood ran from
Robin Hood's arm, nor could he check it, though he strove in every way
to do so. Again and again he called for help, but no help came, for his
cousin had betrayed him, and Little John was too far away to hear his
voice. So he bled and bled until he felt his strength slipping away from
him. Then he arose, tottering, and bearing himself up by the palms of
his hands against the wall, he reached his bugle horn at last. Thrice
he sounded it, but weakly and faintly, for his breath was fluttering
through sickness and loss of strength; nevertheless, Little John heard
it where he lay in the glade, and, with a heart all sick with dread, he
came running and leaping toward the nunnery. Loudly he knocked at the
door, and in a loud voice shouted for them to let him in, but the door
was of massive oak, strongly barred, and studded with spikes, so they
felt safe, and bade Little John begone.

Then Little John's heart was mad with grief and fear for his master's
life. Wildly he looked about him, and his sight fell upon a heavy stone
mortar, such as three men could not lift nowadays. Little John took
three steps forward, and, bending his back, heaved the stone mortar up
from where it stood deeply rooted. Staggering under its weight, he came
forward and hurled it crashing against the door. In burst the door, and
away fled the frightened nuns, shrieking, at his coming. Then Little
John strode in, and never a word said he, but up the winding stone steps
he ran till he reached the room wherein his master was. Here he found
the door locked also, but, putting his shoulder against it, he burst the
locks as though they were made of brittle ice.

There he saw his own dear master leaning against the gray stone wall,
his face all white and drawn, and his head swaying to and fro with
weakness. Then, with a great, wild cry of love and grief and pity,
Little John leaped forward and caught Robin Hood in his arms. Up he
lifted