"Is it indeed my young champion?" asked she, rather doubtfully at first, in her low, soft tones. "Is it you who have beaten the Prince's best archer, Robin o' th' Hood?"
Her eyes were wells of innocent fun. The way in which she lingered over the last syllables brought Robin still deeper into the deep waters.
"It is your servant, madame," was all that he could find to say.
"You see then that I wear your gift, Robin," she said, trying to make him at ease. "I have not forgotten——"
"Nor I—I shall never forget," cried he, impulsively. "Your eyes are always in my memory: they are beautiful as stars," said he, fervently.
"Oh, a gallant Locksley! But there, take my colors, since you will be my knight." She untied a ribbon from her hair, and gave it into his outstretched palm. "And now, farewell; take the Prince's prize, and spend the pennies worthily. Buy your sweetheart some ribbons, but keep that which I have given you."
She tossed her curls again, as she added the last word. Robin was beginning a vehement protestation that he had no sweetheart, when Stuteley's voice broke in upon him.
"Master, they have disqualified you, and given the prize to Hubert. 'Tis a vile injustice, and I have raised my voice furiously. So, alas! has Master Much the Miller; he is a very worthy gentleman."
"What do you say?" asked Mistress Fitzwalter, in amazement.