t without its reward at the time. I could
not, indeed, displace Mr. Phillips from his well-won priority; but in
the eyes of readers who thought less than nothing of "Treasure Island,"
"The Black Arrow" was supposed to mark a clear advance. Those who read
volumes and those who read story papers belong to different worlds. The
verdict on "Treasure Island" was reversed in the other court: I wonder,
will it be the same with its successor?_

_R. L. S._

_Saranac Lake,
April 8, 1888._

PROLOGUE

JOHN AMEND-ALL

THE BLACK ARROW

A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES

PROLOGUE

JOHN AMEND-ALL

On a certain afternoon, in the late spring-time, the bell upon Tunstall
Moat House was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. Far and near, in
the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert
their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in Tunstall hamlet a
group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons.

Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old King Henry VI., wore
much the same appearance as it wears to-day. A score or so of houses,
heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley
ascending from the river. At the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and
mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest
on its way to the Moat House, and further forth to Holywood Abbey.
Half-way up the village, the church stood among yews. On every side the
slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening
oak-trees of the forest.

Hard by the bridge there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the
group had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet
smock--discussing what the bell betided. An express had gone through the
hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not
daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant
himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from Sir
Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the parson, who kept the Moat House
in the master's absence.

But now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the
wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young Master Richard
Shelton, Sir Daniel's ward. He, at the least, would know, and they
hailed him and begged him to explain. He drew bridle willingly enough--a
young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of
deer's leather, with a black velvet coll