Author: Edith Heal
"Perchance all history turneth into myth," Said the outlaw. "Who knoweth but that Ulysses really hid in the wooden horse at Troy. Perchance the sad and wistful Iseult really sat in a high tower grieving for brave Tristam. Some day the world will sing of Robin Hood, and men will think that thou didst live only in the pages of a book."