ow, were he Sheriff, Squire George of Gamewell would oftener
be in Nottingham Castle than now, for we like not the Sheriff. The maid
with Master Fitzwalter is his only child. She has no mother; and he is
both parents to her. Ay, a proper man----"

"She is very beautiful, I think," said Robin, speaking his thoughts
almost without knowing it.

"Yes, yes, a passable wench. But I have no faith in them, lording. They
are all as the Yellow One of Gamewell. They smile upon you that they may
work their will; and evil comes of their favor, if not death. Now
see----"

"You are crabbed, indeed, Warrenton; and I'll hear no more. Do you know
her name?"

"Fitzwalter, lording. Did I not say this was his child?"

"Has she no other name?" persisted Robin, patiently.

"Oh, ay ... let me see. 'Tis Judith, or Joan, or some such name. Mayhap,
'tis Catherine. I do misremember it, lording: but 'tis surely of no
account. The archery is now to begin; and here I would have you give
heed----"

He recommenced his cautions, warnings, and hints--being anxious that
Robin should shine to-day for Gamewell's sake.

Robin saw that the jousting was done, and that, after all, the red
knights were conquerors. It fell to Geoffrey to ride forward and accept
the coveted laurel wreath. Dipping his lance, Geoffrey caused his
charger to bend its knees before the regal-looking box: and Master
Monceux, after an inflated speech, placed the circlet of bays upon the
end of Geoffrey's lance. Then the unknown knight for a brief instant
raised his vizor. The lean-faced man near to the Sheriff's right hand
exchanged a quick glance of understanding with the knight.

The Sheriff nodded to give the knight to understand that he was
satisfied. With closed visor the scarlet one then paced his steed slowly
and in quiet dignity around the lists, followed dutifully by Stuteley,
until they had returned to the Monceux box. Again saluting gracefully,
he extended his lance, with the wreath still depending from it, towards
the Sheriff, as it seemed.

"Does he return the wreath, and wherefore?" asked Robin, in puzzled
voice.

"To her to whom the wreath is yielded our Sheriff will award the title
of Beauty's Queen," explained Warrenton. "'Tis a foolish custom. Master
Geoffrey, in this matter of etiquette, knows that the trifle should go
to young Mistress Monceux. Otherwise, the Sheriff would have him beaten,
no doubt; or injured in some shameful way upon his departure from