It was now that Mrs. Slopperton declared her thorough conviction that the stranger himself could sing—"He had that about him," she said, "which made her sure of it."
"Indeed, dear Madam," said he, with his usual undefinable, half-frank, half-latent smile, "my voice is but so so, and my memory so indifferent, that even in the easiest passages, I soon come to a stand. My best notes are in the falsetto, and as for my execution—but we won't talk of that."
"Nay, nay; you are so modest," said Mrs. Slopperton; "I am sure you could oblige us if you would."
"Your command," said the stranger, moving to the harpsichord, "is all-sufficient; and since you, Madam," (turning to Lucy,) "have chosen a song after the old school, may I find pardon if I do the same? My selection is, to be sure, from a lawless song-book, and is supposed to be a ballad by Robin Hood, or, at least, one of his merry men; a very different sort of outlaws from the knaves who attacked you, Sir!"
With this preface, the stranger sung to a wild
