Walford's announcement was but the simple truth. It was Captain Scarthe, and his confidant Withers, who were approaching the hovel.

They were on horseback; but did not ride quite up to the house. When within a hundred yards of the door the officer dismounted; and, having given his bridle to the trooper, advanced on foot and alone.

There was no enclosure around the domicile of Will Walford--not even a ditch; and his visitor, without stopping, walked straight up to the door--where the woodman was standing on the stoup to receive him.

With the quick eye of an old campaigner, Scarthe saw, that on the ugly face of his late adversary there was no anger. Whatever feeling of hostility the latter might have entertained at the fete, for some reason or other, appeared to have vanished; and the captain was as much surprised as gratified at beholding something like a smile, where he expected to have been favoured with a frown.

Almost intuitively did Scarthe construe this circ.u.mstance. The man before him had an enemy that he knew to be his also--one that he hated more than Scarthe himself.

To make certain of the justness of this conjecture was the first move on the part of the cuira.s.sier captain.

"Good morrow, my friend!" began he, approaching the woodman with the most affable air, "I hope the little incident that came so crookedly between us--and which I most profoundly regret--I hope it has been equally forgotten and forgiven by you. As I am an admirer of bravery, even in an adversary, I shall feel highly complimented if you will join me in a stoup of wine. You see I always go prepared--lest I should lose my way in these vast forests of yours, and perhaps perish of thirst."

As he approached the conclusion of this somewhat jocular peroration, he held up a flask--suspended by a strap over his shoulders--and unconcernedly commenced extracting the stopper.

His _ci-devant_ adversary--who seemed both surprised and pleased at this brusque style of soldering a quarrel--eagerly accepted the proffered challenge; and, after expressing consent in his rough way, invited the cavalier to step inside his humble dwelling, and be accommodated with a seat.

Scarthe gave ready a.s.sent; and in another second had planted himself, on one of the two dilapidated chairs which the hovel contained.

The wine was soon decanted into a pair of tin cups, instead of silver goblets; and in less than ten minutes' time Captain Scarthe and Will Walford were upon as friendly terms, as if the former had never touched the lips of Maid Marian, nor the latter broken a cross-bow over his head.

"The fact is, my bold Robin!" said Scarthe, by way of a salvo, "I and my companion, the cornet, had taken a little too much of this sort of stuff on that particular morning; and you know when a man--"

"Dang it, yes!" rejoined the rustic, warming to his splendid companion, who might likely become a powerful patron, "when one has got a drap too much beer i' the head, he arn't answerable for every bit o' mischief in that way. I know 'twas only in sport ye kissed the la.s.s. Dang it! I'd ha' done the same myself. Ay, that I would."

"Ah! and a pretty la.s.s she is, this Maid Marian. Your sweetheart, I take it, Master Walford?"

"Oh! e-es;--Betsey be somethin' o' that sort," replied the woodman, rather vain of the avowal.

"A fortunate fellow you are! I dare say you will soon be married to her?"

Walford's reply to this interrogatory was ambiguous and indistinct.

"As one," continued the captain, "who has a good deal of experience in marrying matters--for I've had a wife, or two, myself--I'd advise you-- that is, after the fair Betsey becomes Mistress Walford--not to permit any more presents of flowers."

"Dang it!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the jealous lover, "what do you mean by that, master?"

"Why, only that I was witness to that little affair in the old camp; and, to say the troth, was not a little surprised. If any one deserved those flowers from Maid Marian, it was surely the man who first took up her quarrel. That was yourself, Master Walford: as my skull case--which still aches at the remembrance--can truly testify."

"Dang me, if I didn't! The black horseman had no business to interfere, had he?"

"Not a bit! You and I could have settled our little difference between ourselves; and I was just upon the eve of asking your forgiveness--for I felt I had been foolish--when this fellow stepped in. He interfered, for no other reason, than to figure well in the eyes of the girl. I could see plain enough it was that; though I knew nothing of either party at the time. But I've learnt something _since_, that puts the matter beyond dispute."

"Learnt somethin' since--you have?" gasped Walford, springing up from his chair, and earnestly stooping towards the speaker. "If thee know'st anything anent Maid Marian--Bet Dancey, I mean, an' _him_--tell it me, Master! tell it me, an'--"

"Keep cool, Walford! Resume your seat, pray. I'll tell you all I know; but, before I can make sure that I have been correctly informed, it is necessary for me to know more of this person, whom you style the _Black Horseman_. Perhaps you can tell me something, that will enable me to identify him with the individual whose name I have heard, in connection with that of Maid Marian, or Bet Dancey--as you say the beauty is called."

"What do you want to know o' him?" asked Walford, evidently ready to impart all the intelligence regarding Holtspur of which he was himself possessed.

"Everything," replied Scarthe, perceiving that he need not take trouble to keep up even a show of reserve. "As for myself, I know only his name. After all, it may not have been him--who--"

"Who what?" quickly inquired the impatient listener.

"I'll tell you presently, Master Walford; if you'll only have a little patience. Where does this black horseman hold out?"

"Hold out?"

"Ay, where's his hostelry?"

"I've seed him oftener than anywhere else at the Saracen's Head--down the road nigh on to Uxbridge."

"Zooks! my brave Robin, that isn't what I mean. Where does he live?"

"Where's his own home?"

"Ah! his home."

"'Tain't very far off from here--just a mile t'other side o' Wapsey's Wood--in a big hollow i' the hills. Stone Dean the place be called. It be a queery sort o' a old dwellin'--and a good lot out o' repairs, I reckon."

"Does he see any company?"

"Wal, if you mean company--sich as fine ladies an' the like--I doan't think he ever do hev that sort about him. And not much o' any sort, whiles the sun be a-shinin'. After night--"

"Ah! his friends generally visit him by night," interrupted Scarthe, with a glance that betokened satisfaction. "Is that your meaning, Master Walford?"

"No, not gen'rally--ye mout say altogether. I have been to Stone Dean more'n twenty times, since he coomed to live at the old house--at all hours I've been--an' I never seed a soul theer i' the day time, 'cepting myself an' d.i.c.k Dancey. Theer be a' odd sort o' a sarvint he brought wi' him--a Indyen they calls him."

"But Master Holtspur has visitors in the night time, you think?"

"Ay! that he have--lots o' 'em."

"Who are they?"

"Doan't know neer a one o' 'em. They be all strangers to these parts-- leastwise they appear so--as they come ridin', kivered wi' mud an' dust, like after makin' a goodish bit o' a journey. There'll be a big gatherin' o' 'em theer nex' Sunday night--considerin' the letters that's gone. I took six myself, an' d.i.c.k Dancey as many more--to say nothing o' a bunch carried to the west end o' the county by a fellow I doan't know nothin' about. It be a meeting o' some sort, I take it."

"On next Sunday night, you say?"

The question was evidently asked with a keen interest: for the revelations which Will Walford was making had all at once changed the jocular air of his interrogator into one of undisguised eagerness.

"Next Sunday night?"

"At what hour?"

"Twelve o' the clock."

"You are sure about the hour?"

"I ought to be; since I ha' got to be theer myself, along wi' d.i.c.k Dancey, to look to the gentlemen's horses. A big crowd o' 'em there'll be for the two o' us to manage: as the gentlemen be comin' without theer grooms. But what was it, Master?" inquired the woodman, returning to the torturing thought that was still uppermost; "You sayed you knowed somethin' as happened atween Bet Dancey an' _him_? If he's been an'