“I am not a beggar, though, forsooth,” he began, as he seated himself upon the log which did duty for a seat.  “You do not recognise me, Roger, I perceive.”

“Roger Morton, I repeat it, at your service.”

“Well, then, Roger Morton, be it so, but yet you seem to know me not.”

“Odds, troth,” ejaculated the forester, “I seem to know thee somewhat; we have met before.”

“A many times, Roger.”

“Roger Morton.”

“Well, well, Roger Morton, I am apt to forget myself.”

“Ha! you are Nathan Grene,” interrupted the man, as he laid before his guest some cheese and a mug of new milk.  “I know your voice.”

“Are we alone?” whispered the traveller.

“We are,” replied Roger, as he picked up a stout stick with which to defend himself, “but he would be a bold man to tackle me alone, for I can take care of myself full well;” and he quickly placed himself in an attitude of defence.

“Tut, I mean no ill, ’tis a matter of secrecy which I am about to entrust you with; read this,” and pulling up a piece of cord which suspended from his neck, he drew up a tiny casket from his bosom, and, opening it, he drew out a neatly-folded slip of paper and held it out.

Slowly and laboriously Roger spelled the missive out, and having succeeded at last in making himself master of its contents, he whistled with surprise, and closely scanned the visage of his guest.

“What a change!” he exclaimed at length.  “What will the baron say?”

“Hush, speak gently, or we shall be overheard.  The baron must not know.  Can you be trusted?”

“Surely.  And you are Master Manners who killed that De la Zouch.  To think of it, now.”

John Manners it was.  His rescue of Dorothy had advanced his suit but little.  Lady Vernon had been too proud to own herself defeated, and Sir George had passed his word to the Stanleys and was bound to keep to his promise, while Edward Stanley, who had arrived at Haddon soon after the maiden’s rescue, had taken a dislike to his rival and had made matters so uncomfortable for him at the Hall that the unfortunate esquire had found it necessary to take the hint and withdraw himself from Haddon.

But though driven away he was not defeated, for he yet found means of hearing from his betrothed, and even occasionally to correspond with her, but he soon found that the long absence grew more and more unendurable, until at last he determined to venture forward at every risk to be near her again.

“And so they would force Mistress Dorothy to marry Sir Thomas Stanley’s brother?” said the forester after a pause, as he handed the little missive back.

“Yes, and Dorothy conjures you to help us.  You will do it, will you not?”

“So good as she has been to my poor little Lettice, yes, that I will do; but how?”

“I must be a forester.”

“’Tis a rough life for such as thee, Master Manners.”