“God save us,” and he glanced at her impatiently, “but you have forgotten mine! Lambert Lovel, brother to Kate Lovel. Be wary; the Crookback has spies in every port.” “Why stay in the town—at all?” “Oh, you wild falcon! Are there not things to be done here? Are we not hungry? Besides, the Forest is seven miles away.” “I know—but it is home.” Her brother laughed. He was built on lighter, gayer lines than the girl; he had not her strength. A sort of adventurous vanity carried him along, and life pleased him when it was not too grim. “Robin, sweet Robin under the greenwood tree! A pile of stones and a few burnt beams! Scramble, you brats—scramble!” With a lordly air he pretended to throw money to a number of children who seemed inclined to follow them. “You will have to play your part, sweeting. Where the devil is that gaudy inn? Ha! we have it!” A broad square paved with cobbles opened in front of them, its timber and plaster houses built out on brackets and pillars, many of them carrying painted signs hung out on poles. A stone cross stood in the center of the square, and above the lichened roof of the town hall the great round tower of the castle showed like a crown resting on a cushion. The “Inn of the Painted Lady” stood by the guild house of the Armourers’ Guild, a noisy, buxom, deep-chested house, its plaster-work painted green and red, its sign looking like a Roman mosaic. A white mule and a couple of palfreys were waiting outside the entry, and from an open window came the sound of some one singing: “Cuckolds, cuckolds, list to my tale——” It was a big, brawling voice that sang, the voice of a man who was hearty with liquor. Lovel looked at the place a little doubtfully. “Fat—and bountiful! I will go and beard my friend—the host.” The girl turned aside. “I shall be there—on the steps of the cross.” “Be brave, sweeting.” And he went off humming a song. He reappeared shortly with a certain whimsical look. “You will be suffered to sleep with the sluts, Kate.” “And you?” “With the scullions! What men must stomach for the sake of—adventure!” Her nostrils dilated. “The Forest would be sweeter.” “True, dear sister; but shall we be frightened by having to sleep on musty straw with fellow Christians who wash under the pump but once a week? I trust not. Besides, I have to see the Flemming to-night.” Her pride was in revolt, the pride of a kestrel put to perch with flea-ridden hens. “Had I known this I would have chosen to cross the sea in some other dress.” Her brother shrugged his shoulders, and then sat down beside her on the stone steps of the cross. “I’m sorry, Kate, but what would you? We have begun this game in cap and bells, and we must go through with it—or pay forfeit. And the forfeit may be our lives. Crooked Dick shows no mercy.” He was right, and she knew it. There could be no turning back. “What must be—must be. I shall not fail you, brother.” “That’s brave; but one word more, Kate.” “Speak out.”