“Away to the forest! away to the forest!” seemed the tune beaten out by the rhythm of her flying feet.  No fear from pursuit now!  Tom sang and shouted in the strange tumult of his feelings, as he galloped through the soft, scented night.

Lord Claud had been right.  The forest was the place for him.  He had tried the life of the rustic, the life of the town exquisite; and both had palled upon him.  The clash of arms, the peril of the road, adventure, battle, pursuit, victory—­these things held him in thrall.  These things meant life to him.

Better that he should not see mother or sister again at present.  Better that Lord Claud should tell them some smooth tale, which would set their minds at rest for a while.  Later, perhaps, when the hue and cry for him was over, he would seek the shore, would find his way to other lands, and by the power of his good right arm would win himself a name amidst the din of battle.

The future seemed to unfold itself before him in glowing colours.  Life held so many golden possibilities even yet.  What might not a man accomplish who had a purse of gold in his belt, a noble horse beneath him, a trusty sword at his side?

Visions rose before his eyes of the things he would accomplish, the fame he would acquire, the return home he would finally make with laurels round his brow!  Even here in the forest he would be no common freebooter.  He would show himself merciful to the poor and oppressed; he would only take toll of the sleek and the fat, whose wealth was doubtless as ill-gotten as that of those whose lives he had watched of late.

“Men shall pay toll to Tom Tufton!” he cried, waving his sword above his head in a fierce gesture of triumph; “but the poor and the needy shall bless his name, and the oppressed shall find a haven of refuge with him!”

By which it may be seen that Master Tom’s self confidence was in no way diminished by the vicissitudes through which he had passed, and that he was looking forward once again to playing a leading part in some new drama of life.

The border of the great forest loomed up before him.  It looked dark and solemn beneath the shade of the trees.  Tom drew rein, and looked keenly to right and left, for he knew that The Three Ravens inn could not be far away.

“Who goes there?” asked a voice which Tom’s quick ear recognized instantly; and he cried out in tones of eager welcome: 

“It is I, Tom Tufton—­and you are Captain Jack!”

There was a movement of the brushwood, and a horseman stepped out, the horse having given an eager whinny at the sound of Tom’s voice.

“It is Wildfire!” cried Tom, bending over to pat the sleek neck of his old favourite.  “Well, good fellow, have you had a luckier career than your old master?  And yet I scarce can say I wish it undone.  I have tasted life; I have had my glorious days.

“Captain Jack, I am come to you for shelter.  There is a price on my head.  I am outlawed in effect if not in reality.”