rtain, and a little fitful wind frolicked across the range in a way
very disturbing to a bowman's nerves. His eyes half-anxiously addressed
themselves to that box wherein he had spied Mistress Fitzwalter.

His heart leaped--she had returned, and her strange gaze was fixed upon
him! Robin drew his bow and flew his shaft. Unconsciously he used the
arrow plucked from his own shoulder by Warrenton.

Again did he gain the center, amid the cries and jubilations of Stuteley
and the old retainer.

"Now Master Roughbeard, better that!" shouted Warrenton.

The outlaw smiled scornfully and made ready. He drew his bow with ease
and a pretty grace, and made a little gesture of confidence as his agile
fingers released the arrow. It leaped forth rushingly towards the
target, and all eyes followed it in its flight.

A loud uproar broke forth when the markers gave their score--an inner
circle, and not a bull. Master Will made an angry signal of disbelief;
and strode forward down the lists to see for himself. It was true: the
wind had influenced a pretty shot just to its undoing, and Will had to
be content with the hope that the same mischance might come to Robin or
any of the other bowmen before the round was ended.

The outlaw wished especially to win--that he might have the satisfaction
of vexing the Sheriff of Nottingham. Will had intended to send back this
prize--a golden arrow--from his stronghold of Sherwood, snapped into
twenty pieces, with a letter of truculent defiance wrapped about the
scraps. He wished to make it plain to Master Monceux that the free
archers of Sherwood were better men than any _he_ might bring against
them, and that they despised him very heartily. Now that he saw a
likelihood of his being beaten his heart grew hot within him.

"Be not too sure of it, stripling," said he, as he returned to Robin's
side. "Fortune may mar your next shot, as she has mine----"

"'Tis like enough, friend," answered Robin, smiling; "and yet I do hope
that the arrow may be won by my hand. This is our second test, Master
Will," he added, in a low voice. "Forget it not--the freedom of the
greenwood is the reward that I do seek even more than my lord the
Sheriff's golden arrow."

The outlaw's anger went suddenly from him.

"Then I do wish you God-speed, youngling," he said, brightly. "You have
in truth beaten me right honestly--for mine was an ill-judged shot."

With Will out of it, the contest came to an easy conclusion; a