His cries at once attracted notice. The dull, dead street became instantly alive. With an angry exclamation Little John dashed into the pa.s.sage, seized up his bags, and fled, stepping upon the writhing body of the cook as he ran.

Little John turned the first corner at top speed. Three men rushed at him with drawn swords. He swung his bags right and left and felled two of them. The third he b.u.t.ted with his head, and the man asked no more.

Under the wet driving night Little John ran. The bags sadly impeded him, but he would not let them go. He darted down a little court to avoid a dozen clutching hands, and fancied he had now safety.

He paused, drawing in his breath with a sob. The race had tried him terribly. The court was all dark, and his pursuers had overshot it; next instant, however, they recovered the scent and were upon him full cry.

Little John, s.n.a.t.c.hing his bags, dashed up to the end of the alley.

There was a door, which yielded to him.

Next instant he had plunged into the open lighted s.p.a.ce before Nottingham Castle, into the midst of a shouting throng. The illuminations had not been a success, owing to the rain, but they gave enough light to achieve Little John's undoing. The beggar was seized and his bags were torn from him, just as those other pursuers sprang out through the alley.

"He hath robbed a house, and killed a man," shouted the foremost. "Hold him fast and sure."

"Nay--I have killed no one," cried the giant, struggling hopelessly and desperately. "Take my bags an you will; I was but bearing them to my master."

"Pretty goods to be carrying, indeed," said a voice, as someone turned one bag upside down. On to the hard wet stones rolled a number of things collected by this industrious outlaw--pockets, daggers, purses, knives, pieces of gold, and pennies of silver, a motley company of valuables.

"They are my master's," panted Little John, furiously. "Let them be."

"See what he hath in the other sack," cried another. "He seemeth to have robbed our butchers also." The sack was opened, and the contents laid bare.

A sudden silence fell upon the crowd, a silence of horror and hate. Then a thousand tongues spoke at once, and Little John, frozen cold with loathing, saw under the flickering lamps a dreadful thing.

Out of the second sack had fallen the limbless trunk of a dead man, cold and appalling even in this uncertain light. A head, severed through the jugular arteries, rolled at his feet, grinning and ghastly.

"'Tis Master Fitzwalter," whispered one, in a lull. "Dead and dishonored----"

The clamor became deafening, and Little John felt his senses failing fast. He was beaten and struck at by them all; they tore at him, and cursed him.

Their blows and their rage were as nothing beside the thought of that awful thing upon the ground. The crowd and the lamps reeled and swam before the outlaw's eyes and became blurred.

But the grim vision of that dreadful body became plainer and plainer to him. It a.s.sumed terrible proportions, shutting out all else.

CHAPTER XXVIII

As the days sped on and nothing was heard of Little John, Robin began to grow more and more anxious. He made up his mind to go himself into Nottingham and there see Marian, and discover and (if need be) rescue his faithful herdsman.

All the greenwood men were against him in this, however, and for once had their own way. "Let me go, Master," begged Stuteley; "for my life is of little account compared with yours."

"I will go," said Scarlett. "There is no such animus in the Sheriff's mind against me as he hath against the rest of you. I can ask for Master Carfax and he will perforce treat me fairly."

"I am not so sure of it," said Robin, significantly; "I would not trust Master Simeon further than a rope would hold him. Still, what you say is fair enough, cousin, and if you will go into the city for us we shall all be grateful. For my part, I would dearly like to accompany you."

"Your duty is here," answered Scarlett. "Rely on me. I will find out what hath chanced to Little John, and will also attend Mistress Fitzwalter."

Will Scarlett started at once, and bore himself so well that he made sight of Gamewell within two hours. He paused for a moment without his father's house, regarding the old place with half scornful eyes. Then, "What is to be, must be," said Will, to hearten himself.

He walked on toward Nottingham meditatively. If he could have met old Gamewell then and there he would have stopped him and asked his forgiveness. 'Twas in the morning, the sweet fresh morn, in the happy woods, wherein birds fluttered and sang tenderly, and the peaceful deer fed placidly on the close gra.s.s of the glades.

This sylvan picture was disturbed rudely for him. A stag, wild and furious, dashed out suddenly from amongst the trees, scattering the does in terrified alarm. The vicious beast eyed Will in his bright dress, and, lowering its head, charged at him furiously. Will nimbly sprang aside, and having gained shelter of an oak, scrambled hurriedly into its branches.

The stag turned about and dashed itself at the tree.

"Now am I right glad not to be in your path, gentle friend," murmured Scarlett, trying to fix himself on the branches so that he might be able to draw an arrow. "Sorry indeed would be anyone's plight who should encounter you in this black humor."

Scarcely had he spoken when he saw the stag suddenly startle and fix its glances rigidly on the bushes to the left of it. These were parted by a delicate hand, and through the opening appeared the figure of a young girl. She advanced, unconscious alike of Will's horrified gaze and the evil fury of the stag.

She saw the beast, standing as if irresolute, there, and held out her hand to it with a pretty gesture, making a little sound with her lips as if to call it to her side. "For the love of G.o.d, dear lady----" cried Will.

And then the words died on his throat. With a savage snort of rage the beast had rushed at this easy victim, and with a side blow of its antlers had stretched her upon the ground. It now lowered its head, preparing to gore her to death.

Already its cruel horns had brushed across her once. A piteous cry rang through the woods. Will set his teeth, and swung himself to the ground noiselessly.

Then he quickly dropped to his knee, and was aiming his shaft whilst the stag was making ready for a more deadly effort. Will's arrow struck it with terrific force full in the center of its forehead. The stag fell dead across the body of the fainting maid.

Will Scarlett had soon dragged the beast from off the girl, and had picked her up in his strong arms. He bore her swiftly to the side of one of the many brooks in the vale.

He dashed cool water upon her face, roughly almost, in his agony of fear that she was already dead, and he could have shed tears of joy to see those poor closed eyelids tremble. He redoubled his efforts; and presently she gave a little gasp: "Where am I, what is't?"

"You are here, dear maid, in the forest of Sherwood, and are safe."

She opened her eyes then, and sat up. "Methinks that there was danger about me, and death," she said, wonderingly. Then recognition shone in her face, and she incontinently began to bind her fallen hair and tidy her disordered dress. "Is it you, indeed, Master Scarlett?" she asked.

"Ay, 'tis I. And, thank Heaven, in time to do you a service." Will's tones were deep and full of feeling.

"I am always in your debt, Master Will," she said, pouting, "and now you have me at grievous disadvantage. Tell me where you have been, and why you did leave cousin Richard and France?"

"Once I had no safety there," replied Will, with meaning, "neither for myself nor for my heart. As for my leaving Richard's Court, why, foolishly, I would be always where you are."

"So you have followed me, then; is that what I am to believe?" The maid smiled. "I will confess, I did know that you were come to London, and I was glad, Will, for I had not too many friends in England, nor have them now, it would seem. But why was there no safety for you in London? And where have you hidden yourself of late?"

"There is a price upon my head. I am in exile. You know me as Will Scarlett, but in sooth my name is not so Saxon."

"I hate the Saxons," said the maid, pettishly. She had risen to her feet, but still was troubled about her tumbled hair. "I am to be married to one, and so have run away. That is why I am wandering in this stupid wood."

"Call it not stupid, it hath brought you to me once more," whispered Will, taking her hands; "and so you do not love this man after all? Is it so? Had I but known!"

"Didst leave London because of _that_?" asked she, lightly. "Ay, but men know how to cozen us! I'll not believe a foolish thing, not if you were to tell it me a thousand times."

"I'll tell it to you once, sweetheart. I did leave London because I learned that you were to be married to another. Life had no more to teach me than that one thing, and it was enough. For what was left for me to learn? I had loved you and loved you so well, and had loved you in vain."

"Had loved, Will? Is thy love so small, then, that it burns out like a candle, within an hour? I had believed----"

But Master Scarlett suddenly took this wilful maid to his heart. "I do love you, oh, my dear, with all my body and my life--till the end of ends, in waking and sleeping. And so I pledge my troth."