Robin sprang to his feet, looking eagerly from one to another. Whatever his expectations were, the first glance disappointed them. A pimply-faced, watery-eyed little man, in rusty black, entered first, conducting Margaret Moffat by the hand in a ceremonious fashion, that had something in it reminiscent of the time when he did not need filling up with gin to make him remember that he was a student and a Doctor of Divinity. And close behind him, followed Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert—tall, handsome, dressed with the sober elegance that became the budding statesman, supporting on his arm a lady, enveloped from head to foot in a hooded cloak, that completely concealed her. "May I inquire—" Robin began. Then his glance fell upon Margaret, whose air of coquettish simplicity would not have misbecome my lady’s confidential maid, and recognizing her, his hopes rose again, and he burst into a hearty laugh. "Ha, my fair friend; have you come to enliven my solitude once more? What! Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert? I can not say I anticipated the honor of a visit from you. I fancied you had already seen more of me than you approved." Sir Geoffrey flushed. "My good fellow," he said haughtily, "I have no personal enmity toward you; I merely did my duty as a citizen in appearing as a witness against you." "Oh! I had forgotten that," said Robin negligently. "I was thinking of the time when I and my friends were chasing you and yours, and the constables shot my horse—poor Firebrand, I wonder what became of him—and turned the tide of battle." "’Sdeath, fellow!" Sir Geoffrey began furiously, but Prue checked him with a light touch on the arm. "Pray, gentlemen, do not waste time quarreling; what does it matter now who fled and who pursued?" At the sound of her voice, at once gentle and imperious, the two men dropped their warlike air, and Robin, who was astounded to recognize Prue in Sir Geoffrey’s companion, seemed petrified into a statue of expectancy. "If we can have a few minutes’ privacy—?" she suggested. Sir Geoffrey beckoned to the jailer, and after a murmured conference, enlivened by the clinking of coin, the latter consented to see that they were uninterrupted for as long as they wished. While that was being arranged, Prue approached Robin with a timid air. "Master Robert de Cliffe—or Robin Freemantle"—she said, "I thank you for consenting to my wild scheme, and I pray you, forgive me if it seems heartless." "Madam, I deem myself fortunate, if my death be of any use to you," he replied, with a ring of bitter sadness in his tone. Prue, greatly surprised by the voice, which had none of the roughness of the robber’s greeting on Bleakmoor, looked more closely at Robin, and discovered that he was young, handsome, and by no means ferocious-looking. "I would not have you feel harshly toward me," she said, in a low, thrilling voice. "It is not too late, even now, for me to withdraw, if you deem me overbold."