“’Slife, Ladies!” exclaims one of the gentlemen, “but you almost tempt us to follow your example.” “Hither, ye gossoon,” answers Lady Biddy, “an’ I’ll be afther makin’ your countenance shine. Hark! Hoofs!” “Hoofs! Hoofs!” cry all these fair ones, a-darting this way and that, stuffing their napkins into their bodices, as a courteous voice, with a— “By your leave, Ladies and Sirs!” greets them, and none other than Sir Percy, self and horse spent in his fruitless search for the supposed Sir Robin, emerges from the bridle-path across the common, at the edge of the copse. “The top of the morning to you, Sir Percy de Bohun,” laughs Lady Biddy. “Percy!” exclaims Lady Diana, “prithee, what are you doing out of doors at this hour?” “Seeking May-dew! mayhap,” suggests the Honorable Dolly. “But nay, Your Ladyships,” returns he. “I am seeking Sir Robin McTart.” And forthwith Sir Percy proceeds to give them a history of the adventures of the night, omitting no smallest detail of the prowess of Sir Robin. He has just concluded his recital amid a burst of tumultuous “Ohs! ahs! Luds!” and a vast deal of commiserating sympathy, and a monstrous collection of pretty oaths and curses for Tom Kidde, when into the center of this colloquy jumps Lord Brookwood’s messenger, nudging his sweetheart behind a tree, to tell as best he can his errand. To bid all the company at once to see the sight, it now not lacking more than the quarter to the hour when Mr. Lambe will adjust the noose, and send one of the boldest and most courtly young outlaws of his day a-swinging to his deserts. This information, it may be imagined, was received with acclaim of all, and by Sir Percy with positive joy; his only regret, as, dismounting and leading his jaded horse, he walked at Lady Diana’s side, being that Sir Robin had so contrived to give them the slip, and not even to have the happiness of witnessing justice done the rogue who had so near deprived him of existence. “Here’s to drive off the vapors an any one had ’em!” cried the lively Lady Biddy, swinging her hat by its ribands. “And sure’n it’s not believed I’ll be, when I get home to County Cork and tell ’em I saw a highwayman strung up!” “Faith, Di,” says Sir Percy, “’twas a lucky chance for the whole country when the rascal made off with your father’s famous black!” “That was it!” answered she. “The time always comes when no man’s muscle on earth can hold Homing Nell; and ’twas a fine fortune, by my life! when Tom Kidde essayed to ride her. ’Twas a wonder he didn’t jump and run for his life, though,” adds she thoughtfully. “Zounds! there’s a sort of devil-may-care humor in the composition of those fellows that keeps ’em sticking in any saddle they leap into, until the beast’s bestridden that can throw them out of it. They’re so used to taking chances, I doubt if they ever dream of danger until it’s too late!” “When’ll we see the gibbet?” asks the Honorable Dolly, panting with her quick pace. “Soon,” answers Lady Di.