“And thy very good cousin, Cuthbert Trevlyn,” said the Viscount, as he linked his arm within that of his would-be comrade.  “So let there be no more ceremony betwixt thee and me; for we are both bent upon a merry time in the forest, and we will fare forth thither together as brothers and friends.”

“With all my heart,” answered Cuthbert warmly; for he loved companionship, and greatly liked what he had seen of Kate’s cousin and lover, the gay and handsome Lord Culverhouse.  He had been once or twice recently to the great house in the Strand, generally rowing himself up to the garden steps, and sometimes taking the Viscount upon the river with him.  In this way they had struck up a certain friendliness and intimacy; and Cuthbert had spoken to Lord Culverhouse of his proposed visit to the forest on May Day, although without explaining to him the real and chief object of that journey.  Culverhouse had not at the time expressed any desire to accompany him, though he had asked a good many questions respecting the forest and the forest fetes held upon that day.  Cuthbert had observed an unwonted animation in his eyes as he had done so; but nothing in the young nobleman’s manner had prepared him for this freak on his part, and he had actually failed at the first moment to recognize this fanciful figure in its smart forester’s dress when first saluted by the wearer.  But he was glad enough of the meeting, and the proposition of travelling in company was very welcome, though he still had one qualm to set at rest.

“I only go on foot, my lord.  Doubtless you have a horse in waiting, and will soon outride me.”

“A horse! not I. I have neither beast nor man in waiting.  I travel alone and on foot, and for the nonce am no more Lord Culverhouse, but only Rupert de Grey—­thy trusty comrade Rupert—­and a would-be follower of bold Robin Hood, did he but hold his court with his merry, merry men in the free forest now.  See, I wear his livery.  I feel as free as air.  I marvel I never thought of such a masquerade before.  We will have a right merry time this joyous springtide.  How long dost thou purpose to remain in the greenwood thyself?”

“I know not,” answered Cuthbert, as the pair strode southward together, quickly leaving behind the last houses of London, and striking away in the direction of the forest whither both were bound.  It was the last day in April:  the soft south wind was blowing in their faces, the trees were beginning to hang out their tassels of tender green, the hawthorn was bursting into bloom and filling the air with its fragrance.  It was, in fact, the eve of one of those old-fashioned May Days which seem utterly to have gone by now, and all nature was rejoicing in the sweet exaltation of the happy springtide, full of the promises of the golden summer to come.

Cuthbert’s heart swelled with delight as he looked about him and felt that the strife and bustle of the great city were at last shaken off.  In spite of the spell exercised upon him by the life of London, he had for some weeks been pining like a caged bird for the freedom of the country again, the vault of the sky alone above him, the songs of the birds in his ears.  The spring had brought to him yearnings and desires which he scarcely understood, and latterly he had been counting the days which must pass ere he should find himself in the forest once again.