The Knight arose.  “Then, as I am already overdue at Windsor, I shall give you good morning.”

The archer raised his hand.

“I am sorry, my lord, but we must impose a trifle further on your good nature and ask you to remain here a while,” and he nodded to the man beside him, who drew a thin rope from his pouch and came forward.

De Lacy started back—­the leveled arrows met him on every side.

“You would not bind me!” he exclaimed.

The outlaw bowed again.

“It grieves me to the heart to do it, but we have pressing business elsewhere and must provide against pursuit.  Some one will, I hope, chance upon you before night. . .  Proceed, James—­yonder beech will answer.”

The Knight laughed.

“I thank you for the hope,” he said—­and, throwing his body into the blow, smashed the rogue with the rope straight on the chin-point, and leaping over him closed with the leader.

It was done so quickly and in such positions that the others dared not shoot lest they strike either James or their chief—­but the struggle was only for a moment; for they sprang in and dragged the Knight away, and whipped the rope about his arms.

“Marry,” exclaimed the leader, brushing the dirt from his clothes, “I am sorry they did not let us have the wrestle out—­though you are a quick hitter, my lord, and powerful strong in the arms.  I wager you showed James more stars than he ever knew existed.”

James, still dazed, was struggling to get up, and one of the others gave him a hand.

“By St. Hubert,” he growled, rubbing his head in pain and scowling at De Lacy, “if there be more I have no wish to see them.”

In the fight De Lacy’s forearm had struck the point of his own dagger, where it protruded below the brigand’s belt, and the blood was scarleting the white sleeve of his tunic.

The leader came over and bared the wound.

“It is a clean gash, my lord,” he said, “but will need a bandage.”  He drew a bow-cord around the arm above the elbow; then, “With your permission,” carefully cut away the sleeve and deftly bound up the hurt.

De Lacy watched him curiously.

“You are a charming outlaw,” he observed; “a skillful surgeon—­and I fancy, if you so cared, you could claim a gentle birth.”

The man stepped back and looked him in the eyes a moment.

“If I remove the bonds, will you give me your Knightly word to remain here, speaking to no one until . . . the sun has passed the topmost branch of yonder oak?”

The Knight bowed.

“That I will, and thank you for the courtesy.”

At a nod the rope was loosed, and the next instant the outlaws had vanished in the forest—­but De Lacy’s cloak lay at his feet, flung there by the chief himself.

“St. Denis!” De Lacy marveled, “has Robin Hood returned to the flesh?”

Then he looked at the sun, and resumed his seat on the fallen tree.