ays. And he has bidden me to come with him to
Matstead Church."

There was dead silence.

"I went to tell Marjorie to-day," whispered Robin. "She has promised to
be my wife some day; so I told her, but no one else. She has bidden me
to leave Matstead for Easter, and pray to God to show me what to do
afterwards. Can you help me, Anthony?"

He was seized suddenly by the arms.

"Robin.... No ... no! It is not possible!"

"It is certain. I have never known my father to turn from his word."

* * * * *

From far away in the wild woods came a cry as the two stood there. It
might be a wolf or fox, if any were there, or some strange night-bird,
or a woman in pain. It rose, it seemed, to a scream, melancholy and
dreadful, and then died again. The two heard it, but said nothing, one
to the other. No doubt it was some beast in a snare or a-hunting, but it
chimed in with the desolation of their hearts so as to seem but a part
of it. So the two stood in silence. The house was quiet now, and most of
those within it upon their beds. Only, as the two knew, there still sat
in silence within the little wainscoted parlour, with his head on his
hand and a glass of muscadel beside him--he of whom they thought--the
father of one and the friend and host of the other.... It was not until
this instant in the dark and to the quiet, with the other lad's hands
still gripped on to his arms, that this boy understood the utter shame
and the black misery of that which he had said, and the other heard.

CHAPTER II

I

There were excuses in plenty for Robin to ride abroad, to the north
towards Hathersage or to the south towards Dethick, as the whim took
him; for he was learning to manage the estate that should be his one
day. At one time it was to quiet a yeoman whose domain had been ridden
over and his sown fields destroyed; at another, to dispute with a miller
who claimed for injury through floods for which he held his lord
responsible; at a third, to see to the woodland or the fences broken by
the deer. He came and went then as he willed; and on the second day,
after Anthony's visit, set out before dinner to meet him, that they
might speak at length of what lay now upon both their hearts.

To his father he had said no more, nor he to him. His father sat quiet
in the parlour, or was in his own chamber when Robin was at home; but
the lad understood very well that there was no thought of yielding. And