was about to speak. But they concern me not, and I have forgotten them."

"Gramercy, for thy memory," said the baron, "thou trowest that I might take offence at thy remarks, I wot. Fill thy cup, and I will drink to thee, as the sauciest braggart, and most fearless varlet, that ever served a king, or broke a jest at his expense."

"And I pledge thee," said the undaunted outlaw, "for as merry a Norman in thy cups, as ever cut a Saxon's throat, burnt a widow's hut, scourged a poor hind, hung an outlaw, or filled a castle donjon with victims."

"Fore God! thou art a bold fellow, and valuest thy life but little, to utter such words in my presence," said the baron arising and clutching the hilt of his dagger, as he spoke.

"He were a goose, who cared for his life at a time like the present," said the forester, having satisfied himself that his own dagger was in readiness; for not a motion of the Norman had escaped his penetrating eye. "For after such store of good living, who can say that we have lately led a bad life? and assuredly, if we live well, the holy fathers have promised that we

shall die well, and dying well, we are sure of heaven; therefore I hold him a goose, who careth for death after such a repast, seeing that he hath lived well."

"Ha! ha! ha! thou art a merry companion," said the baron, again recovering his composure, and making a slight stagger as he regained his seat, for he had drank deeply. "I am wroth with myself that I was angered against thee; but men, I doubt not, belie me, and consider an act of justice as tyrannous and cruel, words which were unknown when our forefathers won this fair island from the Saxons, for all such deeds were then accounted as bravery, and set down to the score of valour."

"It was on that point I was about to speak," said the daring outlaw. "Men call thee cruel, sir knight, a persecutor of the poor peasants. One who would grasp every hide of land from the surviving Saxons, who remain in this forest, add them to thine own possessions, and send the inhabitants to seek shelter with the wild fox. But," added he, with a sarcastic smile, "they surely cannot speak the truth!"

"By the thunder of God, they are liars!" replied the baron, knitting his brows, and pacing

the apartment with rapid strides, "they who speak thus, know but little of the rebellious race who surround me. Even those who render me talliage, betray my keepers, succour the outlaws, drive their cattle to pasture within the forest, slaughter the deer, and spoil my messengers. I did but burn the hut of a Saxon, who refused to pray at even-tide beside the cross, for the soul of wife my the tenure by which he held his possessions, when the same evening, six of my rangers' lodges were in flames. I shall know no peace until every rascally yeoman is unhoused, and the neck of every Saxon hind again bound with the ring of servitude."

"But might you not soften these rigorous measures?" said the outlaw. "Bethink you it were better to rule over friends than foes, and there be those who have murmured of your severities to the king, and to whom he hath promised redress; and should he fail in his pledge, there are others, who have both will and power to be revenged on thyself. I speak but the truth. I speak of the power you might gain by this kindness."

"They know but little of King John, who trust in his promises," said the Norman; "and

although thou seemest to possess some knowledge of these secrets, yet thou hast communicated nothing new. As to those who would assail me, I never shrunk from the foe in fair field, and will yet throw down my gage in defence of mine honour. Thou seemest to have thrown a spell over me, sir squire, for never yet have I before listened to such accusations, without spurning the accuser from my feet; even as I did the Earl of Eltham's herald."

"By the holy rood, you trust too much to the tongues of your own vassals," said the outlaw, "to hear the truth; for they have the terror of the scourge and donjon too often before their eyes, to repeat to thee what they hear daily. Many of them have been charged to carry defiance to thyself, and tell thee that the blood of those who are called outlaws, and who have perished while in thy hands, will be required of thee."

"Bridle thy tongue, sir squire," said the baron, angrily, "or even thy royal badge may but ill protect thee: I must not answer to the menial for doing what the master approveth."

"Nay, an' you are offended, I can be silent," answered the outlaw. "An' I were the menial

you think me, I should not thus risk my head in speaking of these matters: I tell thee, Sir Geoffrey de Marchmont, that I bear as much love towards the usurper, King John, as thyself; the man who murdered Prince Arthur, to gain his crown, hath but small portion in my prayers. Nay, you may look; an' I gainsay one word when we meet him to-morrow, may God's malison alight upon me!"

"Friend squire!" said the baron, fixing his piercing glance on the outlaw, "an' I knew more of thee, I might trust thee with other matters: thy being no true lover of the king, speaketh something, but there are others who, liking him as little as thyself, are yet no friends of mine. Tell me whom thou art, that doeth his bidding, and yet darest thus to despise him?"

"Marry, that may not be," replied the outlaw. "I come to thee as the king's messenger, and will go out with thee as the same; but when thou hast reached thy journey's end, thou shalt see the love I bear thee."

"By the Holy Martyr, I believe thee honest, and would do much to win thy services," said the baron, "did I but know whether thou wert knight or squire; but I will wait until I see how