There in front of him was the fairest scene in all the world.

Gone was the cold damp cell, gone the poisonous atmosphere of the dungeon, gone were the iron fetters, his strength had returned to him, and lo!--before him, shining fair in the summer sunlight, rich in the fulsome melody of singing birds, was a fair English landscape, and beyond it his own ancestral hall of Staley.

G.o.d had heard his prayer. By His own Almighty working he had bridged time and s.p.a.ce, and Sir Ro was safe again at his old English home.

"A miracle, a miracle!" exclaimed the knight. And, like a good Christian, he fell upon his knees, and gave thanks to G.o.d.

When he arose Sir Ro pa.s.sed along the soft and level sward of green until he came to the hall door. There he knocked long and loud. The warder who answered the knocking, failed to recognise the knight.

"Who knocks so long and loudly?" asked the warder, peering curiously at the palmer. "For a holy man, friend, methinks thou hast a mighty powerful stroke."

This greeting reminded Sir Ro that he was no longer dressed as a knight, but in the garb of a palmer, and that he had best put off knightly ways unless he wished to be discovered, so, in a feigned voice, he answered:

"I am a humble palmer, hungry and footsore, and I crave a meal and leave to rest awhile. All of which I pray ye grant for Christ Jesu's sake."

"Well, well," said the warder, somewhat mollified by the penitent tone of his visitor, "of a truth thou lookest woe-begone and travel-stained. Come thou within and eat and drink, and then, perchance, thou wilt have a tale to tell, which will help the hours to pa.s.s merrily. Hast thou any tidings? Is there any fresh news from the Holy Land?"

"Little of importance," replied the supposed palmer. "But before I tell my story, perhaps thou wilt answer me a few inquiries, for I confess I am mightily curious about this same hall of thine. I had thought this was the hall of Staley."

"And so it is, Sir Palmer. What belike should make thee doubt it?"

"Well, friend, I have travelled in the Holy Land myself, and thy master's escutcheon is not unknown to me. He was a stout soldier of King Richard against the Paynim. And that banner which floats from the high tower bears not the same devise as that which Sir Ro of Staley bravely upheld against the Saracens."

"In truth, thou art right there, Sir Palmer. 'Tis not the same banner, and, though I eat my salt beneath the new devise, I do not mind confessing that I would sooner see the old one flying overhead. 'Tis a sad story, friend. Hast thou not heard in thy wanderings that the brave knight of Staley was slain in the Holy Land?"

"That is news to me," answered the other, starting. "But even so, what of his lady? Is she not alive?"

The warder looked uneasily about him, as though he had no wish to talk upon such a subject.

"The women can tell thee more of my lady," said he. "And thou art still hungry. Eat first, and talk afterwards."

[Ill.u.s.tration: DOORWAY TO STALEY CHAPEL, MOTTRAM CHURCH.]

Saying which he ushered Sir Ro to an apartment, and left him for a while to the attention of the waiting maids. As the warder, even so the maids--none recognised their lord, Sir Ro, in the palmer's garb which he was wearing. In accordance with the old laws of English hospitality, they brought to him a cup of methyglin, and manchets of bread to eat. As he supped, Sir Ro fell into conversation with the maids; he asked after the health of the Lady of Staley, and whether he might have an audience with her. To which the maids made answer that the Lady of Staley was sore troubled, and even then was weeping in her chamber, and would see no man. Then they related to him the circ.u.mstances of their lady's trouble. The knight of Staley, they said, had gone away to fight in the great crusade. News had come that he was dead--having been captured and put to death by the enemy--and now the kinsmen of the lady were forcing her to wed again, although her heart was still with her dead lord, and she could bear the sight of no other man.

"That," said the spokeswoman, "is why Staley Hall is so much changed, and why another banner floats above the turrets."

"But if your lady does not love the newcomer, why then does she submit to a marriage which must be distasteful? Did not her lord will his estates to her in case he should fall in the Crusade?"

"That we know not, good sir palmer. But 'tis said that this new knight has made her understand that he hath a grant of her late husband's lands from the king, and that he will dispossess both her and her relations unless she consents to marry him. Folk do think it is more for the sake of her kinsfolk that she brings her mind to the wedding."

"And when is the wedding to be?"

"To-morrow."

Sir Ro pondered awhile, then turning to the chief serving-maid, asked:

"Would'st do thy lady a service?"

Being answered in the affirmative, he took his empty drinking-cup, and dropped into it the half of his wife's broken wedding ring, which he had retained, and bade the maid carry it to her mistress. This the maid did. On seeing it, the Lady of Staley gave a great cry, and, saying that the palmer surely brought some news of her dead husband's last hours, and perchance carried his dying message, she commanded him to be brought into her presence.

Sir Ro now beheld the face of his loved one, whom he had never thought to see again. At first the lady failed to recognise in the guise of the palmer, the husband whom she had never ceased to love, and Sir Ro, being anxious to learn whether she was still true to him, forebore to make himself known. The lady, with tears in her eyes, looked at the half of the wedding ring which the palmer had brought, and placing her hand in her bosom drew forth the companion half which she wore ever near her heart. Then, with many sobs, she protested that the image of her dead lord had never left her, and that she only consented to mate with another in order that her kinsfolk should not be reduced to beggary.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EFFIGY OF SIR RO AND HIS LADY, IN STALEY CHAPEL, MOTTRAM CHURCH.]

Bit by bit the knight drew from her all the story: how her new suitor had been the one to bring tidings of her lord's death, and how he, having secured the Staley estates, now offered her the choice of a union with him or beggary for herself and her people.

Then Sir Ro, unable to restrain himself any longer, uttered her name in his own voice, and instantly she recognised him, and, with a great cry, fell into his arms.

Now the joyful cry uttered by the Lady of Staley rang throughout the hall, and, full of wonder and fear, the retainers rushed to the chamber, feeling that they had been indiscreet to leave her alone with an unknown palmer. The treacherous knight, who, by his lying tale, sought to entrap her into marriage, also appeared upon the scene, and, in a voice of anger, demanded of the palmer what he wanted, and by what right he was there.

"By the best right in the world," answered Sir Ro--"the right of master."

"Insolent," cried the traitor-knight in a fury, drawing his sword as he spake. "Thou shalt pay dearly for thy folly."

But Sir Ro, with a sharp action, cast from his shoulders the palmer's disguise, and, standing forth in the full glory of his warlike figure, s.n.a.t.c.hed a mace from the wall, and advanced to meet his enemy.

"A Staley, a Staley!" he cried, giving forth the rallying cry of his house in a voice which the retainers knew of old.

Instantly he was recognised, and with shouts of joy the men-at-arms and servitors sprang to his side, whilst some of them disarmed the traitor, and without waiting for the order from their lord, hurried him to the deepest dungeon, there to await justice when the joyful celebrations anent Sir Ro's return had come to an end.

Needless to say the imposter met with the punishment he deserved; he was stripped of his knightly rank, and was never afterwards seen or heard of in Longdendale. The bells of Mottram Church rang out a merry peal in honour of the homecoming of the Knight of Staley. Sir Ro and his lady lived a long and happy life together. At their death they were buried in Mottram Church, where an effigy was placed to their memory above their grave. This effigy, which represents a knight in full armour, and his lady lying side by side, may still be seen in the Staley Chapel of the old Church at Mottram, and it serves to keep green the story of Sir Ro's adventures.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

In Mottram Church is an ancient monumental effigy, which is said to represent the figures of Sir Ro or Ralph de Stavelegh of Staley Hall and his wife--the hero and heroine of the foregoing legend. "Roe Cross," the name of a well-known spot in Mottram, is also attributed to the connection of the place with this popular local crusader.

VI.

Robin Hood's Visit to Longdendale.

Robin Hood, the greatest bowman that old England ever knew, frequently visited Longdendale. Probably the "thick woods of Longden," with their wealth of wild red deer, induced him to lead his band from the haunts of merrie Sherwood to the no less merrie land of Longdendale. Old traditions tell of a "mighty forest in Longdendale, whose trees were so thick that the squirrels could leap from branch to branch from Mottram to Woodhead." Such a country might well attract a lover of the free forest life like bold Robin Hood; moreover, there ran a road over a good portion of Longdendale, along which the fat old Abbots of Basingwerke were wont to convey their treasures from their township of Glossop, to their fine abbey seat in Wales. Doubtless the Abbot dreaded a meeting with the mighty outlaw, for Robin dearly loved to pluck a fat-bellied churchman that he might place the golden n.o.bles in the pouches of the poor.

This story, however, has nothing to do with the robbing of the Abbots or Monks of Basingwerke. It is a story of skill and fabulous strength.

Indeed, there are many who doubt that the incidents related ever occurred--simply because such things seem impossible. But then those incidents are recorded in the traditions of the people of Longdendale, and, consequently, they are worthy of serious consideration. He must be either an amazingly bold or an exceedingly ignorant man, who would cast a doubt on the veracity of a Longdendale tradition.

However, the reader must judge for himself.

The story has it that bold Robin Hood and his forest band (including the redoubtable Little John, Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet, and Much, the miller's son, and a hundred other st.u.r.dy yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green, and having great long bows of English yew and good cloth-yard shafts) appeared one day in the Longdendale country. Weary of hunting the stag through the woodland glades, they were longing for some chance of adventure to present itself, when they became aware of a loud and dismal moaning hard by. The sound came from a handsome youth who, cast full length upon the sward, was bitterly bemoaning his cruel fate. It appeared that he was betrothed to a beautiful maiden, but her guardian (who was a grim old bachelor) had forbidden their union, and finally, to prevent all intercourse between them, had shut her up in his castle.

On hearing the story the foresters were loud in their denunciations of such heartless conduct. They vowed it was the greatest sin that man could possibly commit--to interfere with lover's meetings. Little John was for attacking the castle, battering down the gates, and sending an arrow through the mid-rib of the guardian, which process, he thought, was calculated to end the matter at once. But Robin, though anxious enough for a fight, was of opinion that his henchman's plan might endanger the maiden, who was completely at the mercy of the tyrant. He suggested an interview, and, accordingly, the stout Friar Tuck was sent as amba.s.sador or emissary to make terms with the maiden's guardian.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE NEAR BOTTOM'S HALL; "PART OF THE ANCIENT FOREST OF LONGDENDALE."]