t up and paced back and forth, his eyes on the oak at
every turn--truly that tree was growing higher every minute--or the sun
was sinking. . . Not that he was in haste to return to Windsor. . .
There would be a fine tale to tell there--no need to speed to it--it
would speed to him quite soon enough. . . . But to get away from the
accursed place--anywhere . . . back to Windsor even . . . what if some
one found him here in this plight--and he not allowed to speak--unable
to explain--dumb as that oak. . . Would the sun never move! The wound
was stinging sharply, and the arm above the cord was turning black and
swelling fast--the pressure must come off. He felt for his dagger;
then flung out an imprecation, and tried to tear the cord asunder with
his teeth. It was quite futile; it was sunk now so deep in the flesh
he could not seize it--and the knots were drawn too tight to loose. . .
Would the sun never move!

He fell to searching for a stone--a small one with an edge that could
reach in and rasp the deer-hide cord apart--but vainly; though he tried
many, only to leave his arm torn and bleeding. . . Yet at last the sun
had moved--it was up among the thinner branches.

Of a sudden, back in the forest rose the deep bay of a mastiff . . .
and presently again--and nearer . . . and a third time--and still
nearer . . . and then down the path came the great tawny dog, tail
arched forward, head up--and behind him a bay horse, a woman in the
saddle.

"Down, Rollo, down!" she cried, as the mastiff sprang ahead. . .
"Beside me, sir!" and the dog whirled instantly and obeyed.

De Lacy bethought himself of his cloak, and hurrying to where it lay he
tried to fling it around his shoulders, but with only one hand and his
haste he managed badly and it slipped off and fell to the ground. As
he seized it again the horse halted behind him.

"You are wounded, sir," she said; "permit me to aid you."

He turned slowly, bowing as he did so--he dared not speak--then glanced
up, and almost spoke in sheer amazement, as he beheld the slender
figure in green velvet--the sweet, bow-shaped mouth, the high-bred,
sensitive nose, the rounded chin, the tiny ear, the soft, deep grey
eyes, and, crowning all, the great rolls of the auburn hair that
sunbeams spin to gold.

"Come, sir," said she, "I stopped to aid you, not to be stared at."

De Lacy flushed and made to speak, then checked himself, and with
another bow held up his arm and motione