The day had well-nigh dawned before Cuthbert flung himself upon one of the pallet beds in the cave, and fell asleep from sheer weariness of mind and body; but he was young, and sleep came quickly and held him in a fast embrace.  The silence and darkness of this underground place were favourable to a long spell of repose.  The youth did not open his eyes till the sun had passed its meridian many hours, though no ray of daylight glinted into that dim abode.

It might have been the middle of the night for all he knew when he opened his eyes once again; and when he did so he lay perfectly still, for he was convinced that he was yet in the midst of some strange dream.  He was in the cave of red sandstone where he had fallen asleep, lying in the darkest corner of all upon a straw pallet, with his sad-coloured cloak over him; but the cave itself was lighter than it had been when he had fallen asleep.  Two torches flamed upon the table, and by the bright flame they cast upon the objects near to them, Cuthbert saw a strange and weird-looking figure.

This figure was that of a man, who was seated at table, and had evidently been partaking of some refreshment.  He was dressed in outlandish garb, and in a fashion which was only affected now by very old men, who had worn such garments all their lives, and were averse to change.  Cuthbert had occasionally seen such a dress amongst the aged folks about his home, but this was more fanciful than any assumed by a mere rustic, and gave to the tall thin figure a certain air of distinction.  A soft felt hat with a high crown lay upon the table; and the light shone full upon a face that was seamed by tiny wrinkles, and upon a thick head of hair that was either flaxen or white, Cuthbert could scarcely say which.  The face was almost entirely hidden by a tangled growth of beard as white as snow, which beard descended almost to the man’s waist, and was of wonderful fineness and bushiness.  At the first glance the impression produced by this strange apparition was that he was a man immensely old; but a closer examination might well raise doubts.  The air and bearing of the man were strangely alert for an octogenarian, and the way in which he tackled the hard bread and cheese which still stood before him was scarcely like the fashion in which the aged generally eat.

Cuthbert held his breath as he gazed.  Was this a dream—­the outcome of his talk with the gipsy?  No, he was awake; he became more and more sure of it.  But lying perfectly still, and not betraying his presence by so much as a deeply-drawn breath, he gazed and gazed as if fascinated upon the face of this strange being, and in his heart he said: 

“Long Robin himself!”