He busied himself in welcome of the bridegroom--a grave old man, dressed up very fine. The bride was clothed in white samite, and her hair shone like the sun. Her pretty eyes were dark with weeping; but she walked with a proud air, as women will who feel that they are martyring themselves for their love's sake. She had but two maids with her, roguish girls both. One held up her mistress's gown from the ground; the other carried flowers in plenty.
"Now by all the songs I have ever sung, surely never have marriage bells rung for so strange a pair!" cried Robin, boldly. He had stopped them as they were passing into the church. "Lady," he asked, "do you love this man? For if you do not then you are on your way to commit sacrilege."
"Stand aside, fool," cried the bridegroom, wrathfully.
"Do you love this man?" persisted Robin. "Speak now or never. I am a minstrel, and I know maids' hearts. Many songs have I made in their honor, and never have I found worse things in them than pride or vanity."
"I give my hand to him, minstrel, and that is enough," the girl answered at last. She made a movement towards the aisle.
"And Allan?" whispered Robin, looking straight into her eyes.
At this she gave a little gasp of fear and love, then glanced irresolutely towards the shrivelled baron. "I will not marry you!" she cried, suddenly.
Robin laughed and, dropping the harp, clapped his horn to his lips. Even as the archers sprang upon him, the greenwood men appeared.
"Mercy me!" called out the Bishop, seeking to escape, "here are those rascal fellows who did maltreat me so in Sherwood."
The archers were prisoners everyone, and the baron too, ere my lord of Hereford had done exclaiming. Stuteley and Much pushed Allan-a-Dale forward. "This is the man, good my lord, to whom you shall marry the maid," cried Robin, flourishing his bow, "if she is willing."
"Will you marry me, dear heart?" pleaded Allan-a-Dale. "I am your true love, and the stories they told to you were all false."
"Own to it, baron!" roared Little John, shaking up the unfortunate old man. "Tell her that you did lie in your straggling beard when you said that Allan was untrue."
"Ay, ay, I spoke falsely; ay, I own to it. Have done with me, villain."
"Spare him, Little John, for the nonce. Now, my lord, marry them for us, for I am ready to sing you my song."
"They must be called in church three times by their names; such is the law," the Bishop protested.
Robin impatiently plucked the Bishop's loose gown from off his back and threw it over Little John's shoulders. The big fellow thrust himself firmly into it and stood with arms akimbo. "By the faith o' my body," cried Robin, "this cloth makes you a man!"
Little John went to the church door, and all began to laugh consumedly at him. Even the maid Fennel forgot her vexations. Seeing that she smiled, Allan opened his arms to her, and she found her way into them.
Little John called their names seven times, in case three should not be enough. Then Robin turned to the Bishop and swore that he should marry these two forthwith. The gown was given back to him, and my lord of Hereford commenced the service. He thought it more polite to obey, remembering his last experience with this madcap outlaw.
"Who gives this maid in marriage?" asked the Bishop, in due season.
"I do," said Robin, "I give her heartily to my good friend, Allan-a-Dale, and he who takes her from him shall buy her dearly."
They betook themselves to Barnesdale after the wedding, leaving my lord of Hereford gownless and fuming in the organ-loft of the little church at Plympton. His guard was variously disposed about the sacred edifice: two of the bowmen being locked up in the tiny crypt; three in the belfry, "to ring us a wedding peal," as Robin said, and the others in the vestry or under the choir seats in the chancel. The old baron had been forced to climb a high tree, and had been left in the branches of it feebly railing at them.
Then they all came back into Barnesdale, there to make a proper wedding-feast, after which Allan carried off his bride and her maids to his own home in the north, promising stoutly to return to them in due season.
