Catherine did not move to go when the people drew away from her, but rather stood looking at them with that lurking fire in her eyes and a flush on her fair cheeks.  Mistress Mary sat on her horse, curbing him with her little hand, and her golden curls floated around her like a cloud, for she had ridden forth without her hood on hearing the sound of the horns and bells, eager to see the show like any child, and the merrymakers stared at her, grinning with uncouth delight and never any resentment.  There was that in Mary Cavendish’s look, when she chose to have it so, that could, I verily believe, have swayed an army, so full of utter good-will and lovingkindness it was, and, more than that, of such confidence in theirs in return that it would have taken not only knaves, but knaves with no conceit of themselves, to have forsworn her good opinion of them.  Suddenly there rose a great shout and such a volley of cheering and hallooing as can come only from English throats.  A tall lad cast a great wreath over Mistress Mary’s own head, and cried out with a shout that here, here was Maid Marion.  And scores of voices echoed his with “Maid Marion, Marion!” And then, to my great astonishment and dismay, for a man is with no enemy so much at a loss as with a laughing one, since it wrongs his own bravery to meet smiles with blows, they gave forth that I was Robin Hood; that the convict tutor, Harry Wingfield, was Robin Hood!

I felt myself white with wrath then, and was for blindly wrestling with a great fellow who was among the foremost, shaking with mirth, an oak wreath over his red curls making him look like a satyr, when Mistress Mary rode between us.  “Back, Master Wingfield,” said she, “I pray thee stand back.”  Then she looked at the folk, all smiles and ready understanding of them, until they hurrahed again and rang their bells and blew their horns, and she looked like a blossom tossed on the wave of pandemonium.

I had my hand on her bridle-rein, ready to do my best should any rudeness be offered her, when suddenly she raised her hand and made a motion, and to my utter astonishment the brawling throng, save for some on the outskirts, which quieted presently, became still.  Then Mistress Mary’s voice arose, clear and sweet, with a childish note of innocence in it: 

“Good people,” said she, “fain would I be your Maid Marion, and fain would I be your queen of May, if you would hold with me this Kingdom of Virginia against tyrants and oppressors.”

I question if a dozen there grasped her meaning, but, after a second’s gaping stare, such a shout went up that it seemed to make the marshes quiver.  I know not what mad scheme was in the maid’s head, but I verily believe that throng would have followed her wherever she led, and the tobacco plants might have been that morning cut had she so willed.