e supper."

They seated themselves--no names were asked, a few remarks were
made upon that subject which interests all Englishmen so deeply
even now--the weather.

"Hast travelled far?" asked the chieftain.

"Only from Pevensey; we sought Michelham, but in the storm we must
have wandered miles from it."

"Many miles," said a low, sweet voice.

The knight then noticed the woman for the first time--he might have
said lady--who sat on the right of this grim king. Her features and
bearing were so superior to her surroundings that he started, as
men do when they spy a rich flower in a garden of herbs. By her
side was a boy, evidently her son, for he had her dark features, so
unlike the general type around.

"How came such folk here?" thought De Montfort.

The meal was at length served, the stew poured into wooden bowls;
no spoons or forks were provided. The fingers and the lips had to
do their work unaided, in that day, at least in the huts of the
peasantry. Bread, or rather baked corn cakes, were produced; herbs
floated in the soup for flavouring; vegetables, properly so called,
were there none.

Many a time had our travellers partaken of rougher fare in their
campaigns, and they were well content with their food; so they ate
contentedly with good appetite. The wind howled without, the snow
found its way in through divers apertures, but the warmth of the
central fire filled the hovel. Their hosts produced a decoction of
honey, called mead, of which a little went a long way, and soon
they were all quite convivial.

"Canst thou not sing a song, Stephen, like a gallant troubadour
from the land of the sunny south, to reward our hosts for their
entertainment?"

And Stephen sang one of the touching amatory ballads which had
emanated so copiously from the unfortunate Albigenses of the land
of Oc. The sweet soft sounds charmed, although the hosts understood
not their meaning.

"And now, my lad, have not thy parents taught thee a song?" said
the knight, addressing the boy.

"Sing thy song of the Greenwood, Martin," added the mother.

And the boy sang, with a sweet and child-like accent, a song of the
exploits of the famous Robin Hood and Little John:

Come listen to me, ye gallants so free,
All you that love mirth for to hear;
And I will tell, of what befell,
To a bold outlaw, in Nottinghamshire.

As Robin Hood, in the forest stood,
Beneath the shade of the greenwood tree,
He the presence did scan, of a fine