“Out, miscreant!” shouted Adam; and was about to spring at him again, but the powerful arm collared him, and he recognized at once that he was like a child in that grasp. He ground his teeth with rage and muttered, “That a fellow with such thews should give such dastardly counsel, and _he_ yonder not lift a finger to aid!” “Wilt follow me,” composedly demanded the stranger, “with hands free? or must I bind them?” “Follow?” replied Adam, ruefully looking at the boy with eyes full of reproach—“ay, follow to any gallows thou wilt—and the nearest tree were the best! Come on!” “I have no warrant,” returned the grave hunter. “Tush! what warrant is needed for hanging a well-known outlaw—made so by the Prince’s tender mercies? The Prince will thank thee, man, for ridding the realm of the robber who fell on the treasurer bearing the bags from Leicester!” And meanwhile, with uncouth cunning, Adam was striving to telegraph by winks and gestures to the boy who had so grievously disappointed him, that the moment of his own summary execution would be an excellent one for his companion’s escape. But the eye, so steady yet so quick under its somewhat drooping eyelid, detected the simple stratagem. “I trow the Prince might thank me more for bringing in this charge of thine.” “Small thanks, I trow, for laying hands on a poor orphan—the son of a Poitevin man-at-arms—that I kept with me for love of his father, though he is fitter for a convent than the green wood!” added Adam, with the same sound of keen reproach and disappointment in his voice. “That shall we learn at Guildford,” replied the stranger. “There are means of teaching a man to speak.” “None that will serve with me,” stoutly responded Adam. “That shall we see,” was the brief answer. And he signed to his prisoners to move on before him, taking care so to interpose his stately person between them, that there should be no communication by word, far less by look. CHAPTER II THE LADY OF THE FOREST “Behold how mercy softeneth still The haughtiest heart that beats: Pride with disdain may he answered again, But pardon at once defeats!”—S. M. THE so-called forest was in many parts mere open heath, thickly adorned by the beautiful purple ling, blending into a rich carpet with the dwarf furze, and backed by thickets of trees in the hollows of the ground. Across this wild country the tall forester conducted his captives in silence—moving along with a pace that evidently cost him so little exertion, and was so steady and even, that his companions might have supposed it slow, had they only watched it, and not been obliged to keep up with it. Light of foot as the youth was, he was at times reduced to an almost breathless run; and Adam plodded along, with strides that worked his arms and shoulders in sympathy.