Robin started forward with a joyful cry.
“Ah! I know you now! By the sight of yon golden arrow won at the Sheriff’s tourney, you are she on whom I bestowed it, and none other than Maid Marian!”
“You—are—?” gasped Marian, for it was she; “not Robin!”
“Robin’s self!” said he gaily; and forthwith, clad as he was in rags, and stained of face, he clasped the dainty page close to his breast, and she forsooth yielded right willingly.
“But Robin!” she exclaimed presently, “I knew you not, and was rude, and wounded you!”
“‘Twas nothing,” he replied laughingly, “so long as it brought me you.”
But she made more ado over the sore wrist than Robin had received for all his former hurts put together. And she bound it with the little kerchief, and said, “Now ‘twill get well!” and Robin was convinced she spoke the truth, for he never felt better in all his life. The whole woods seemed tinged with a roseate hue, since Marian had come again.
But she, while happy also, was ill at ease; and Robin with a man’s slow discernment at last saw that it was because of her boy’s attire. He thought bluntly that there was naught to be ashamed of, yet smilingly handed her his tattered long cloak, which she blushingly put on, and forthwith recovered her spirits directly.
Then they began to talk of each other’s varied fortunes, and of the many things which had parted them; and so much did they find to tell that the sun had begun to decline well into the afternoon before they realized how the hours sped.
“I am but a sorry host!” exclaimed Robin, springing to his feet. “I have not once invited you to my wild roof.”