[EIGHTH EDITION. ]

THE

HEIRESS OF HADDON. 

BY

WM. E. DOUBLEDAY. 

LONDON:

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT AND CO. , LIMITED. 

BUXTON AND BAKEWELL:

U. F. WARDLEY, "HIGH PEAK NEWS" OFFICES. 

PREFACE

The real romance of Haddon Hall is a sweet, old-world idyll ofsingular attractiveness and interest. The gems of the story have beenreset by dramatists in different surroundings; but while, as in theSullivan-Grundy opera, many of its chief incidents have been retained, many have been omitted. 

In the old story there are no Puritans, and not one solitary Scotchmanappears upon the scene. The original drama was enacted in the pastoraldays of "Good Queen Bess, " when the Tudor Queen was still young andbeautiful, and

 "When all the world was young, lad, And all the trees were green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen. "

Haddon Hall, the scene of the story, is situated at the foot of thePeak, between Bakewell and Chatsworth, close to Matlock, and not farfrom Buxton. Far from the madding crowd the hoary old edifice stands, carefully preserved, and generously thrown open to public view by itsprincely owners, the Dukes of Rutland, who, though for more than acentury back they have ceased to inhabit it, have yet most carefullyprotected the building from falling into the slightest disrepair. 

In our own day, the Hall stands very much as it did in the heyday ofits glory, when the sisters Margaret and Dorothy received the homageof their numerous admirers, or the "King of the Peak" himself passedto and fro within its walls. But it is more beautiful now than it wasthen, for now it is tinged with a beauty which age alone can bestow, and mellowed with a charm that none of the Vernons ever knew. 

And of this charm Dorothy Vernon herself is assuredly the centralfigure. For three centuries her romantic career has been a favouritetheme with minstrel, poet, and painter; and during all this time--likethe ivy which grows and clusters around the walls and nooks andcrannies of what, generations ago, were the abiding-places of kingsor nobles, scenes of splendour and animation--so, during the lapse oftime, there has grown a beautiful and romantic web of legendary lorewhich clings tenaciously to every wall, window, and stone of the oldHall, until every room and every corner of old Haddon seems to tellthe story of the beautiful maiden who, once upon a time, fell in lovewith a certain plain John Manners, whom she was determined to wed, inspite of all the obstacles that were placed in her way. 

The story telling how she accomplished this has been told in manyvarying forms, but in the following pages the writer has sought toincorporate the essence of nearly all the legends, concerning not onlyDorothy, but also of Sir George Vernon. A considerable amount of freshmatter has been introduced, and, without unduly intruding the dryfacts of history, a few of the great events and persons of the timehave been pressed into service; whilst at the same time, some of theold English customs of the days of "Good Queen Bess" have been made toserve the purpose of the narrative. 

W. E. D. 

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER. PAGE. 

 I. --AT FIRST SIGHT 1 II. --A JEALOUS HEART AND CRAFTY 7 III. --THE CLOSE OF THE DAY 13 IV. --DAME DURDEN'S ORDEAL 19 V. --A VISIT TO NOTTINGHAM 26 VI. --DE LA ZOUCH INDULGES IN A LITTLE VILLAINY 32 VII. --DOROTHY OVERHEARS SOMETHING 42 VIII. --A TOURNAMENT; THE COMBAT 49 IX. --AT THE COCK TAVERN, LONDON 55 X. --IN DIRE STRAITS 63 XI. --AN UNFORTUNATE DENOUEMENT 71 XII. --A CONFESSION OF LOVE 79 XIII. --FATHER PHILIP'S ACCIDENT 88 XIV. --AN UNPLEASANT NIGHT 94 XV. --SIR GEORGE AT WESTMINSTER 101 XVI. --A NIGHT ADVENTURE 107 XVII. --A DALE ABBEY HERMIT 114 XVIII. --THE CHAMBER OF DEATH 120 XIX. --"THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. " 126 XX. --THE TROTH-PLIGHT 133 XXI. --THE PLOT IN PROGRESS 139 XXII. --ON A FALSE SCENT 147 XXIII. --DARK SUSPICIONS 153 XXIV. --THE ESCAPE 159 XXV. --THE LAST OF DE LA ZOUCH 166 XXVI. --A DISGUISED LOVER 174 XXVII. --A NARROW ESCAPE 180 XXVIII. --"NOT YET" 188 XXIX. --THE ANGELS OF LIFE AND DEATH 197 XXX. --STOLEN SWEETS 206 XXXI. --THE TOKEN 215 XXXII. --PLAIN JOHN MANNERS WINS HIS BRIDE 222 XXXIII. --PEACE AT LAST 229

THE HEIRESS OF HADDON. 

CHAPTER I. 

AT FIRST SIGHT. 

 There is a spirit brooding o'er these walls That tells the record of a bygone day, When 'mid the splendour of these courtly halls, A pageant shone, whose gorgeous array Like pleasure's dream has passed away. 

 ANON. 

 Where both deliberate the love is slight; Who ever loved that love not at first sight?

 MARLOWE. 

Amid the hills of Derbyshire which cluster around the Peak thererises, in a lovely dale slyly peeping out from behind the surroundingtrees, the fine old pile of Haddon Hall. 

Perhaps the old shire of Derby, with its many rich examples, canpresent to view nothing equal in historic and legendary interest tothis old mansion. Its turrets and towers, its windows and itswalls, its capacious kitchens, and its fine halls and banquetingrooms--unspoiled by the hands of the "restorer"--have gained forit the almost unchallenged position of being the finest baronialresidence which still exists. 

There stand the grey old walls whose battlements have proudly biddendefiance to the storms and blasts of half a thousand winters, andthere still stand the gnarled old trees which have gently swayed toand fro while many a baron has ruled the Hall, and whose leaves aftergrowing in superlative beauty, seeming to partake in the grandeur andpride of the "King of the Peak, " have drooped and fallen, after havingmade, with their rich autumnal tints, a succession of beautiful livingpictures which have delighted the lords and ladies of Haddon foralmost twenty generations. 

When William the Conqueror had invaded England and had succeeded inseating himself upon his somewhat insecure throne, he began to rewardhis followers with liberal grants of the land he had won. Among thesefortunate individuals was one, William Peveril, said to be a son ofthe Conqueror, and to him, in common with many other estates in andaround Derbyshire, was given the manor of Haddon. Part of the fabricwhich was then erected is still standing, and it is surmised by somethat traces are still left of a previous Saxon erection. In the year1154, the estate was forfeited to the Crown, and it was granted byKing Henry II. To the Avenals, from which family, two hundred yearslater, it was transferred by marriage to the Vernons. 

Its fate has been strangely wrapped up in the history of its women, for as it passed from the Avenals to the Vernons by marriage, soagain, three centuries later, by a similar process, it passed from theVernon family to the Rutland, which ever since has retained it in itspossession. 

Everything around, both inside and out, is fragrant with interest. Everything seems to breathe out the spirit of departed ages. It is onevast relic of "Merrie England's" bygone splendour. 

It was the old original "Palace of the Peak, " nor was it unworthy ofthe name. The glory of many royal palaces of its time indeed mightwell have paled beside its splendour, and as a matter of fact thebaron of Haddon was a king within his own domain, who wielded apower which few around dared to question, and fewer still resist. Itshospitality was lavish, as the poor of a neighbourhood of no smallradius knew full well; and the vastness and riches of the propertywhich accompanied the ownership of Haddon was enough to maintain itslord in an almost regal state. 

What happy scenes have taken place within its walls! How many fairladies have stepped off the riding stone outside its gate, helped bythe gallant but superfluous aid of chivalrous knights, each strivingto outdo the others by gentle acts of courtesy! What brilliantcavalcades have issued from its portals! How many merry huntingparties have started from its iron-studded gate; and what jovialmonster feasts have taken place within its rooms. If walls couldspeak, what a tale would Haddon have to tell. 

The spring of the year of grace 1567 had just commenced, and the treeswere beginning to adorn themselves once again in their green array, when the Knight of Haddon, Sir George Vernon, led out a merry companyfor the first hawking expedition of the year. The winter had beenunusually long, and more than extraordinarily severe; and whilst theknight and his sturdy friends had been enabled to pursue their sportby submitting to a more than usual amount of inconvenience, yet theladies had been almost entirely confined within the limits of theHall. Winter at Haddon was by no means a dreary imprisonment, forfetes and balls were continually taking place, and however rough theweather might be, and the condition of the miserable tracts which inthose days did duty for roads, there were not a few cavaliers, bothold and young, who would gladly adventure the discomforts of a journeyto Haddon, even were it to be only rewarded by a smile, or perchancea dance with the two daughters of the host, whose beauty, though ofdifferent types, many were ready to swear, and to maintain it, ifneed be, at the point of the sword, could not be surpassed in all thecounties of the land. 

Indeed, the beauty of Margaret and Dorothy was almost as famous asthe reputation of the "King of the Peak" himself, and the old knight, owner as he was of immense wealth, was often heard to assert that histwo daughters were the greatest treasures he possessed. 

Many eyes were cast upon these two fair maidens, and many hearts werelaid at their feet. Margaret, the elder, was already being wooed bySir Thomas Stanley, and some gossips even went so far as to saythat she had already plighted her troth to him. The younger sister, however, had kept her heart intact, and in spite of the persuasions ofSir George and the threats of Lady Maude, had refused to comply withtheir request to accept Sir Henry de la Zouch as her betrothed. 

Although by no means dreary, yet the continual round of winter feastshad at last begun to assume an aspect of staleness, and lords andladies alike had for some time past been eagerly anticipating the timewhen they might once more pursue their noble sports. As the winterhad gradually withdrawn its ice and snow, and occasional gleams ofsunshine appeared, hearalding the advent of spring, the excitement hadincreased. Dancing was discarded, the tapestry work was laid aside, and all with one mind began to make preparations for the comingexcursions. 

And now the long wished for day had come. The number of guests at theHall had been largely augmented by fresh arrivals, and as the jovialbaron looked round the table at the feast of the previous evening, hedeclared that a better company could not be found in all the land. 

The scene as they started out was animated in the extreme. The ladies, in their many-coloured dresses, riding on horseback, were gracefullycoquetting with the knights and squires who surrounded them anddutifully paid their court to them with all the reverence of afast-departing chivalry. 

The chase was to be on foot, and in the rear followed a number ofpages, each leading his dogs and carrying his own as well as hismaster's jumping pole. Everything promised well. The turf had driedafter the recent floods, with a pleasing elasticity. The sun shonebrilliantly upon the gold-trimmed jerkins of the hawks, and the hum ofconversation, with its occasional outburst of merry ringing laughter, added to the tinkling of the sonorous little falcon bells, or the barkof the dogs every now and again as they ineffectually tried to breakaway from the leashes in which they were held, all tended to put theparty in the best of spirits. 

Dorothy Vernon, as usual, was surrounded by a circle of admirers, each of whom was anxious to bring himself under her especial notice byanticipating her wishes, or quickly fulfilling her slightest commands. 

Sir Henry de la Zouch was there, as a matter of course. He was mostassiduous in his attentions, and although it was plainly visible thathis presence was as little appreciated as his suit, yet he still keptby her side. 

"Methinks, fair demoiselle, " he began, "thou art hardly so sprightlythis morning as the occasion might warrant. Now, Mistress Margaret, there--"

"Aye, Margaret again, Sir Henry, " interrupted the maiden; "thou artfor ever placing me beside my sister Margaret. He bears too hardlyupon a simple maiden, does he not, Sir John?"

Sir John de Lacey, a little fidgety old man on the wrong side ofsixty, nervously played with his collar, and, delighted at theopportunity thus afforded him of paying back a grudge of longstanding, he summoned to his aid all the dignity he was capable ofassuming, and declared that the whole of Sir Henry's conduct wasungallant to the last degree. 

De la Zouch darted a look of intense wrath at the old man, but as thelatter was yet rearranging his collar, the effort was lost. 

"Nay, nay, sweet Dorothy, " he said, "I meant to say naught that wouldvex thee, for I would have thee smile upon me and not frown; and if mywords have not been pleasing to thee in the past, I am sorry for it, and will endeavour to amend my ways in the future. "

"Where do we go to-day?" asked Dorothy, not noticing his last remark. "We are full late for the woodcock, and the partridges are not yetready. "

"There are plenty of sparrows on the wing, " exclaimed Sir Benedict àWoode, who had been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to join in theconversation. 

"Aha! Sir Benedict, " she replied. "Methought thou wert too unwell tojoin us to-day, but thou hast weathered the attack, I see. "

"Now, could I stay away, fair cousin, when I knew thou wert among themerry company?" gallantly responded the knight. 

"'Twas but the wine got into his head, Dorothy, " insinuated Sir Henry. 

Dorothy, according to the fashion of the time, was carrying a hawk, one which she herself had trained, upon her wrist, which was protectedfrom the beak and talons of the bird by a large thick glove. Shelooked upon the noble bird, and felt proud of her treasure. 

"St. George, " she said, "would scorn a sparrow, though, or else, I fear, most noble Benedict, he shares not in the pride of hismistress. "

St. George cocked his head on one side, as if to receive thecompliment in a most befitting manner, and catching sight of a handupon the saddle, it rapidly dipped down its head and made a viciouspeck at the intruding fingers. 

It was the hand of De la Zouch, and he withdrew with an ejaculation ofanger. 

"There, Mistress Dorothy, " he exclaimed, "did I not say the bird wasbut imperfectly taught, and now see here;" and he ruefully pointed tothe bleeding finger. 

Dorothy was so overcome by the tragic attitude Sir Henry assumed, that instead of offering him her sympathy, she burst out into anuncontrollable fit of laughter, in which the rest of the companyjoined; and, burning with indignation, the unlucky knight hastenedaway to join the group around the elder sister. 

Having fallen behind, Dorothy and her companions had now to hurryforward, for they learned by the blowing of the horns and signals ofSir George Vernon that they were now close upon the scene of the day'ssport. 

"Come, Doll, " shouted the baron, "we are waiting for you; we are readyto begin, and there are some strangers with whom I must acquaint you. "

They soon joined company, and Master John Manners, together with hisfriend, Sir Everard Crowleigh, had soon passed through the pleasantformality of an introduction to one of the prettiest and wealthiestheiresses in England. 

John Manners, who plays a prominent part in this veracious narrative, was the nephew of the Earl of Rutland. As he reverently kissed thedainty hand which Dorothy held out to him he was so smitten with thecharm of her beauty that Cupid led him, an unresisting captive, toyield his heart to the keeping of the maid. He was deeply smitten, nor was Dorothy herself insensible to the more masculine beauty of thescion of the house of Rutland, for as his dark, flashing eyes met herown, in spite of herself, she felt the power of a strange attractionwhich drew her towards him. The sprightly god of love had already donehis work, and, although perhaps neither of them was aware of the fact, they were each being bound by his chains. 

It was a case of love at first sight. 

CHAPTER II. 

A JEALOUS HEART AND CRAFTY. 

 He that sows in craft does reap in jealousy. 

 MIDDLETON. 

 Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand; Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 

 SHAKESPEARE. 

The scene of the pastime had been reached, and the preparations forthe hawking had already begun. The falconers brought up their birds, the pages gave up their masters' jumping poles, and the dogs weresniffing the air, eager for the chase to commence. 

At last the jerkins were taken off, and the straps which had held thehawks were unloosed; the dogs were sent to the front, and the realwork of the day began. 

Sir George was in capital humour, and closely followed by Sir Benedictà Woode and the others, he led off at a rare pace, with the ladiesfollowing upon their steeds a little distance in the rear, and, behindall, a number of admiring rustics, eager to see a little of the sportin which it was not their lot to participate. 

Sparrows were plentiful, but no other kind of bird was to be seen, andSir Benedict was just thinking that Sir George would have to humblehimself, when the dogs began to bark. 

"Quails, as I'm alive! See!" shouted the baron, in high delight. 

"And a whole bevy of them, too, " added De la Zouch, turning round tothe ladies. 

The excitement, which had simmered before, now suddenly becameintense, and away went lord and lady, knight and esquire, over walland ditch, in their eagerness to keep up with the hunt. 

Dorothy had not flown her bird, for she had noticed that MasterManners was without a hawk, and now she sent it forward to him by herpage, and waited with a beating heart to learn whether her offer hadbeen accepted. 

Manners himself came back and thanked her. 

"But marry, fair Mistress Vernon, " said he, "I could no more rob youof your bird than I could steal away your beauty or take possession ofyour heart. "

"Nay, now, " replied Dorothy, not paying the proper amount of regard tothe truth, "I am already for-wearied of the hawking; and it were moreto my taste to follow on in a more leisurely fashion, " she added, seeing that he was about to refuse. "St. George is a good bird, and isanxious to try a flight; and thou art a stranger, too; thou must takeit, " and she placed the merlin on his wrist. 

Manners had never felt more embarrassed in the course of his life, and, ready-witted though he was, he found himself at a loss how toreply. Before he had collected his scattered senses, Dorothy hadgone, and he, left alone, was a long way in the rear. The horns of thehunters, which were continually sounding, proved a sufficient guide, and being nimble of foot, he started off in great haste to rejoin theparty, which was now well out of sight. 

All this had not escaped the jealous eyes of De la Zouch, for, securely hidden within the friendly foliage of a patch of brushwood, he had seen and heard all, and, with perceptions sharpened by thejealous spirit which raged within his breast, he had at once divinedthe secret which neither of the two, as yet, understood. 

As Manners departed, he emerged from his hiding-place, gnashing histeeth with rage. His anger was terrible to behold. 

"So, so!" he exclaimed, as he watched the retreating figure, "ithas come to this, then, that I am to yield my share of the riches ofHaddon to this usurping churl. But no; it shall never, never be! JohnManners shall lie in six feet of solid earth ere I forego the prize!"

Had he been more careful, Sir Henry would have discovered that he wasnot alone. Had he been less rash, whatever he might have thought, hewould have kept his opinions to himself; for hardly had he spoken, when a rough voice at his elbow awakened him from the reverie intowhich he had fallen. 

"Such words, noble sir, are costly, and I ween thou hadst rather nothave them repeated to the King of the Peak. "

De la Zouch turned sharply round and fiercely confronted thewell-known figure of the Derby packman. 

"Thou art over bold for a knave, " he exclaimed; "get thee gone. "

"Not till I am the richer, or I will hie me to Sir George, and tell mytale to him, " was the cool reply. 

"Villain!" hissed Sir Henry, "begone!" and obeying the impulse of themoment, he dealt the pedlar a blow which felled him to the ground. 

"There will be a few more nobles for that, " groaned the man as heslowly regained his feet. 

De la Zouch glanced contemptuously at him and turned to depart, but hewas not to go so easily. 

"Nay, forsooth, " cried the pedlar, clapping his hands upon theshoulders of the nobleman. "And thou wilt forget thy debts it behovesme to insist. "

With a curse the latter turned round again, but seeing the determinedaspect of the man, he pulled out three golden nobles and offered themto him. 

The packman laughed. 

"What!" he exclaimed. "I must have more than that for my bruisesalone. "

"Thou art insolent; that is all I shall give thee; take it or leave itand get thee gone. Thy word would never weigh against mine. "

"Well, master, " returned the other, "it is a case of life or death, and you value your life at three sorry nobles? I would take thatrather than the money, for Manners is a friend to the poor, " andgrasping his thick stick with both his hands he struck at De la Zouchwith all his might. 

The blow was parried by Sir Henry, who received it upon his jumpingpole, and with blood now thoroughly aroused and life on either side tofight for, the conflict was furiously sustained. 

The packman's attack was at no time equal to the defence of hisadversary, and as he rained down blow after blow they were coollycaught upon the pole, which, used in skilful hands in much the samefashion as the quarter-staff, made quite an admirable weapon both forattack and defence. 

Such an unequal contest could not long continue. Science must evertriumph over mere brute force, and this occasion proved to be noexception to the rule, and as the man tired, his blows perceptiblyweakened. Had Sir Henry by any piece of misfortune failed to protecthimself, the end might have been different. His skill, however, savedhim in the end, and as the fury of his opponent abated the knightbecame more vigorous in his attack. 

The end soon came, for, raising his stout ash pole high up in theair, De la Zouch brought it down with, tremendous force, and easilybreaking through the pedlar's guard, it alighted heavily upon hishead. With a groan the unlucky man staggered back and fell upon theturf. The blow had struck home, and the Derby packman was no more. 

Whilst this scene was being enacted, Sir Henry's page, missing hismaster from amongst the hawking party, had turned back in greattrepidation to seek him. Guided by the sound of the blows, the youthhad experienced little difficulty in attaining the object of hissearch, and, standing at a respectable distance, he had been a silentwitness of the tragic conclusion of the encounter. Seeing that all wasover, he slowly advanced, in a very uncertain state of mind as to thecharacter of his reception. 

De la Zouch was too busily engaged in a scrutiny of his late opponentto notice the arrival of his page, and upon the latter devolved theunpleasant duty of announcing himself. 

"That was a featly stroke, my lord, " he began. 

Sir Henry turned round, and a sigh of relief escaped him as he foundit was not a fresh combatant with whom he would have to contend. 

"Ha, Eustace, " he said, "There are many who would like to learn thetrick of it; 'tis known to few besides myself, but I will teach itthee some future time. "

Eustace, too, gave a sigh of relief. His master was unusuallygracious. 

When Sir Henry spoke again, his voice was changed. 

"Hast thou seen all?" he asked. 

"I saw the end of it. "

"But the commencement?"

"No! I was--"

"Ah, well, " interrupted the knight, "'twas not my fault; I would fainhave had thee witness its commencement, for, by my troth, the knavebrought his fate upon himself. "

He rolled the corpse over and they turned to go, but ere they hadproceeded many yards they came to a halt. De la Zouch had an idea, andthey wheeled about and returned to the body once more. 

"Empty the jerkin, " said Sir Henry, as he pointed to the man's jacket. 

Eustace shuddered, but the command was given in so peremptory a tonethat there was no option but to comply. He stooped down and emptiedthe capacious pockets of the dead man's jerkin, wondering thewhile-time whether or no his master had suddenly turned robber. 

"There is little enough to take, " said he. 

"Tut, I want none of it, " replied the knight, and picking up theassortment, which consisted of a huge jack-knife, a pair of spectacleswith monstrously wide rims, some bootlaces, a broken comb, and a fewcoins, he carefully scattered them about the scene where the strugglehad taken place. He was not yet satisfied, though, for espying thehollow trunk of an old tree close by, he made the unwilling page helphim to deposit the body there. 

Eustace wonderingly helped him. He would much preferred to have leftit alone, but he dared offer no resistance. He could only hope thatif the matter were heard of again, he might not be implicated in theplot. 

De la Zouch critically surveyed the scene, and after lightly coveringthe body over with grass and twigs, he turned to depart. 

They walked on in silence for some distance before either of themspoke: the knight deeply wrapped in thought; the page eager and yetfearful to learn the particulars, yet not daring to question hismaster. 

At last Sir Henry spoke. 

"Mind you, Eustace, " said he, "say naught of this affair. I would nothave my name mixed up with it, and if they ask thee, say thou knowestnaught. "

Eustace felt mightily relieved, and readily gave the required promise. He was used to these little deceptions which his master was wont touse on pressing occasions. 

"And see, " continued the knight, after a pause, "I am hurt, foralthough I have come off victor without a scratch, I have not come outof the tussle without a bruise or two. I shall tell them I have had afall. You understand!"

The page acquiesced, the conversation ceased, and the two walked on insilence to rejoin their companions. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE CLOSE OF THE DAY. 

 See how the wily rascal plays his part. With many a groan and many a practised art. Around his victims he the net entwines, Nor rests till he is snared within its lines. But sure such hurtsome craft and wicked toil, Will eftsoon on the villain's head recoil. 

In the meantime the chase had grown in excitement. The hawks were aseager to distinguish themselves as the birds were to escape, and thesport waxed fast and furious. 

As the sun declined, the scattered hawkers struggled back to theappointed rendezvous to partake of refreshment ere they began theirreturn journey. By ones and twos they came, bearing with them thetrophies of their sport, which they deposited in a heap before theladies. 

No one missed De la Zouch at first, and it was not until nigh upon theconclusion of the meal that his absence was remarked. 

"Why, where is Sir Henry de la Zouch?" asked the old knight. 

No one had seen him for some time. 

"Ah, well, " exclaimed Sir George, "'tis a bad plan to be betwixt townsat mealtimes, eh, Doll? I suppose he'll come soon, though. Perhapshe's having the best run of the day all alone;" and the knight sighedat the bare thought of his being away from it. 

But Sir George's anticipations were not fulfilled, for when the mealwas finished De la Zouch had not appeared. 

"He may have met with an accident?" suggested Manners. 

"I rather think Sir Henry is afraid of me, " stammered old Sir John deLacey, as he buried his face in the last tankard of ale. 

"Then he were wise indeed to stay away, " added Sir Thomas Stanley, with a sly wink. "I, for one, would not lightly risk a combat with sodoughty a knight as yourself, else Margaret might eftsoon weep for alover departed. "

As there was still some time left, and there was no certain knowledgethat Sir Henry needed their assistance, it was determined to returnslowly homewards, and if sport offered itself upon the way to turnaside and follow it. The party had not been long in motion before itroused a "fall" of woodcocks, the very sight of which--so excessivelyrare at such a time--infused into the sportsmen all the animationof which they were capable. The hawks shot up after them, and theirbells, which could be heard tinkling even when the birds were beyondthe range of vision, served in some degree to inform the hunters whichdirection they should take. 

"Well, if De la Zouch is doing better than this, why then he iswelcome to it, " said Sir George, as with his coat sleeve he wiped awaythe perspiration which was streaming down his face. "'Tis fine sport, this, Master Manners, " he added, and the old baron chuckled with glee. 

It was at this moment that the head falconer approached. 

"We have found Sir Henry, my lord, " he said. "He is sorely injured bya fall. "

"Ha! is that so? Then you were right, Master Manners, " exclaimed SirGeorge, as he turned round to the falconer. "Where is he?" he asked. 

"Over the ditch, my lord, close by the wall where his page is standingby his side, " and he pointed to where Eustace stood. 

Sir George blew his horn, and in answer to the signal the eagerhunters broke off their chase and returned, puzzled in no small degreeby the summons they had received. In a few brief words the situationwas explained to them, and the party rapidly pushed on to rejoin theirinjured companion. 

De Lacey, upon hearing that his quondam friend was hurt, was soovercome by a most chivalric spirit of forgiveness that he determinedto be the first to reach his side, and to offer him what relief laywithin his power. Filled with this noble resolve, he hurried forward, but, unfortunately for him, he was not destined to accomplish hismission, for as he was crossing the ditch his pole snapped asunder, and he suddenly found himself located in the very centre of the rankmud dyke. There he was, and all his efforts to free himself caused himonly to sink deeper and deeper. 

"O, Blessed Mary, save me; save me!" he yelled out in an agonyof anguish as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking; but not, apparently, feeling very much assured about the answer to his prayer, he turned from things spiritual to things visible and mortal. 

"Help me; save me, George, " he cried. 

Sir George Vernon was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect ofthe affair to lend any assistance just then, for he well knew that twofeet, if not less than that, was the excess of its depth. 

"Let him alone, " he cried. "If he had not so befuddled his head withale he would remember as well as I do that twenty inches would reachthe bottom of the mud. "

Had Lady Maude been there she would in all probability have senther lord and master to aid the poor unfortunate, but she was safeat Haddon, and, rejoicing in his freedom from restraint, he laughedlouder and louder as he watched the frantic efforts of his friend. 

"Don't let me die, " pleaded poor De Lacey. "Don't let me die like adog. Oh, dear, I'm going, I'm going! Blessed Virgin, help me; saveme!" and the old man made a last great struggle to free himself. 

Manners could bear it no longer. He clearly perceived that whatwas fun to them was mortal terror to the pitiable object of theirmerriment, and, advancing to the edge of the dyke, he held out hispole at arm's length to render him what assistance he could. 

"Here, take hold of it, " he cried. 

Sir John endeavoured to obey the injunction, but he could not eventouch it, and he sank back again in despair. 

"Why, man, " laughed Sir George, "as I'm a Vernon, you know as well asI do that thou canst never sink deep in two feet of mud. "

The words roused De Lacey to struggle to his feet and attempt toextricate himself. He staggered forward and advanced a foot ortwo, but the slimy mud had such a determined hold of him that heoverbalanced himself, and fell forward at full length into the ditch. This time, however, he was closer to the bank, and making anothereffort, he grasped the pole which was still held out to help him. Manners leaned forward, and pulled with all his might, but for sometime it was an open question whether he would go in or Sir John comeout. 

At this critical juncture Dorothy arrived upon the scene of thedisaster. The sight of the old man's distress at once appealed to herwomanly nature, and she had but to murmur a word of pity, when, in amoment, half-a-dozen knights leapt over to fulfil her unspoken wish. With this accession of strength the captive was easily freed, and aqueer figure he was. It would have been difficult for a stranger tohave determined exactly what he was; for, covered as he was to thedepth of several inches with black mud, he looked more like an animalof prehistoric times--such as we see represented by fossils--than anyhuman being. 

De Lacey was promptly rolled upon the turf, and the pages set to workand endeavoured to reach his person by scraping away the adhesiveslime with the aid of sticks and stones. 

"Get up, man, get up, " exclaimed Sir George. "Here is Doll waiting tohonour thee with a dance. "

Dorothy shrank back, while Sir John, utterly exhausted, sank backagain helplessly upon the ground. Seeing that he was totally unableto walk of his own accord, and in too dirty a condition to leanupon anyone's arm, a rough extempore litter was made, upon which theunfortunate knight was set and carried away, loudly lamenting theunkindness of the fate which had brought him to such a sorry plight. 

"And now let us see what we can do for De la Zouch, " said Sir GeorgeVernon, and they proceeded to the spot where the injured knight waslying. 

"How now, Sir Henry? What's this, any bones broken, eh? How did you doit, man; was it here?" and having delivered himself of this string ofquestions, the King of the Peak leaned against the wall and awaitedthe reply. 

"More hurt than injured, I believe, " replied the other, "but Eustacehere will tell thee all about it;" and Eustace, who had carefully gotthe story by heart, recounted how, when they were after a fine bevyof quail, his master's pole had snapped as he was springing up, andinstead of clearing the wall he had fallen heavily against it. 

The pole, broken in twain, which lay upon the grass close by, attestedthe truth of the statement. 

"Sir Benedict, " exclaimed the baron, "thou art somewhat learned inleechcraft; see if thou canst do aught. Tell us what is amiss. "

À Woode stooped down, and after a prolonged examination he gave it ashis opinion that some of his friend's ribs were broken. 

Another litter was quickly made up and De la Zouch, who was nowfeeling the full effects of the injuries he had received, and who inreality stood in need of assistance, was placed upon it and carriedoff in the wake of Sir John de Lacey. 

Leaving them to pursue their way homewards, the hunting party set offonce more to make a fresh attempt at sport ere the day should close. But now the fortune which had so favoured them during the day desertedthem. Not a bird was seen, and after vainly beating about for sometime the party at last reluctantly determined to wend its way oncemore towards Haddon. Sir George sounded his horn again, and in answerthe wanderers returned from all quarters of the wood, all of themlight-hearted and most of them light-handed too. 

The route now taken was precisely the same by which they had advancedduring the day, and they soon arrived at the spot where the strugglehad taken place. Dorothy discovered the first signs of the conflict. 

"Why, what in the name of faith is this?" she cried, as she pointeddown to the ground. "'Tis a noble, I declare. "

"And here is another, " added Crowleigh, stooping down and picking upthe glittering coin. 

"And here's a comb, what a nice--"

Sir Benedict never missed that sentence, for as he bent down to pickit up he caught sight of the body of the packman, and he started backaffrighted at the sight. "Look!" he cried, "'Tis a--the blessed saintsprotect us, 'tis a murder see!" and he pointed to the tree. 

"A what?" asked Sir George, coming up. "What's a murder? Where?"

"Here, see!" and à Woode pulled away the twigs which had but halfhidden the body from view. 

"Heaven forfend us!" ejaculated the baron as he gazed horror-strickenat the body. "'Tis a foul villainy, and so near Haddon, too. "

"'Tis the poor Derby pedlar, " exclaimed Dorothy, "and it was butyester e'en since he was at the Hall. "

"Ha! 'tis lately done, I see. Trust me, I shall see to this. We'llhave no ghosts round Haddon, Doll. To-morrow we'll enquire into it. Imust get to the root of this. "

"'Tis evident it was a robbery, " suggested Manners. "Even now theknaves may be lurking round. "

Sir George took the hint and the vicinity was closely examined, but, of course, not a trace of the perpetrators could be found; so, leavingthe followers to bring on the body in the rear, the party hurriedforward to gain the friendly shelter of the Hall and to partake of thebountiful feast which the Lady Maude had provided for them. 

CHAPTER IV. 

DAME DURDEN'S ORDEAL. 

 Fear fell on me and I fled. * * * * * I took the least frequented road, But even there arose a hum; Lights showed in every vile abode, And far away I heard the drum. Roused with the city, late so still; Burghers, half-clad, ran hurrying by, Old crones came forth, and scolded shrill, Then shouted challenge and reply. 

 AYTOUN. 

Next morning the Hall was early astir. The news of the murder hadspread far and wide, and had caused a feeling of consternation in theneighbourhood, which was intensified by the mystery in which it wasenshrouded. 

De la Zouch had grown worse during the night, and soon after the breakof day had departed, with Eustace, for Ashby Castle, declaring thatin spite of the good intentions of Sir Benedict his case was notunderstood, and that it had been aggravated rather than improved bythe attentions he had received from his friend. 

Sir George, as magistrate of the district, had caused the body to bedressed, and for a long time he sat in his dressing-room ponderingwhat steps he had better take next. There was absolutely no clue, yetthe baron was determined not only to discover the culprit, but to makesuch an example of him as should effectually deter a repetition ofsuch a crime in the neighbourhood of Haddon, at least for some time tocome. 

At length he issued from his room, and, passing along the corridor, heascended a short flight of stairs, and stopped at the door of theroom in which Dorothy was busily engaged in making some new tapestryhangings. He paused, uncertain whether to turn back or to enter. 

"Yes, I will, " he muttered; "she has the clearest head of them all, "and suiting the action to the word he gently turned the handle andwent in. 

Dorothy had dropped her work, and so intently was she gazing throughthe open lattice window that she did not notice the arrival of herfather. 

The knight stood still for a moment or two, and involuntarily admiredthe graceful figure of his daughter, and stepping gently forward, hetapped her lightly upon the shoulder. 

Dorothy turned hastily round, and as she did so he caught her deftlyin his arms and printed a loud, smacking kiss upon the fair girl'scheek. 

"There, " said he, "I'll warrant me thou wert longing for it; come now, confess. "

Dorothy disdained any such idea. 

"Nay, " she replied, "I was but thinking of the poor pedlar. I hadbought these from him only the day before, " and she pointed to alittle heap of silks which lay upon the table. 

"I had come to talk it over with thee, Doll, " replied the baron as hesat himself comfortably down upon a chair. "I think it was a robbery, eh?"

"Yes, " slowly replied the maiden, "I should think so, too. Meg and Ipaid him six nobles. "

"And only two were found. "

"Only two?" asked Dorothy. 

"That is all, " replied the knight. "The knaves must have made off withthe rest. That ill-favoured locksmith would be as likely a rascal asany; I must examine him. "

"Nay, that cannot be, he was all day in the stocks. "

Sir George scratched his head in despair. He had privately determinedthat the locksmith was the guilty one, but now that his idea wasentirely disproved he felt sorely at a loss how to proceed. 

Dorothy watched him in silence; she was as helpless as the baron. 

"Was the packman staying in the village?" asked Sir George, lifting uphis head after a long pause, during which he had kept his glance uponhis foot, as if seeking inspiration there. 

"He stayed at Dame Durden's, I believe. "

"What, the witch?"

"Yes. "

"I have it, then, " he exclaimed as he struck his hand heavily upon thetable. "I have it!" and without saying another word he hastened out ofthe room. 

Although the knight had thus decisively declared that he "had it, " yetwhatever it was that he had got, he did not feel equal to proceedingin the matter alone, and before he had proceeded many steps he turnedback again. 

"Come, Doll, " he said, as he opened the door again, "we will gotogether, " and the two went off in company to consult the rest of thefamily. 

The Lady Maude was seated in a low, easy chair, And with an air oflanguor upon every feature of her countenance was listening to SirJohn de Lacey, who was reading to her out of Roger Ascham's treatiseon Archery. As the knight stepped into the room the remembrance of theprevious day's mishap was strongly brought back to his memory. 

"What ho! sir knight, " he exclaimed; "better, eh!"

"A little stiff about the joints, mine host, " he replied, "for which Ihave thee to thank. "

"Tush, man, don't mention it, " laughingly returned the baron. "There'sno question of thanks betwixt me and thee. "

"They gave me some hot sack, and then rolled me in the river, " whinedDe Lacey, "and the pity of it is I cannot remember which of them itwas, or else I'd--I'd--"

Sir John de Lacey paused to consider what course of action he wouldhave taken, but ere he had resolved, the door opened, and Sir ThomasStanley entered, bringing in with him the Lady Margaret. 

"Well, well, " returned Sir George, "since it baffles thy wits todiscover whom it was, thou hadst best have the grace of forgiveness, it will become thee well. But a truce to this. I came to counsel withyou of the murder. Any more news, Sir Thomas?"

"I hear that the old hag, Durden, had a quarrel with the pedlar theday before his death, " answered Stanley, "and she told him to his facethat he would come to no gentle end. "

"They have often quarrelled, " added Margaret, who felt bound to addsomething to her lover's statement. 

"Yes, then, " said Sir George, "I have it now. I guessed it was herfrom the very beginning. "

"Nay, nay, " interrupted Dorothy, "you suspected the smith at first. "

"Well, Doll, it makes no matter of difference if I did. 'Tis theold witch, sure enough, and she will either hang or drown for it, Iswear. "

"Not so fast, either though, worthy knight, " interrupted Stanley. "Iam not yet satisfied that it really was the witch, for she seems tohave been at home all day, except when she was by the side of thestocks. "

"Courting the proud smith, " added Lady Vernon, referring to a rumourin the neighbourhood. 

"But he was killed in the woods, " said Dorothy. 

"Tut, there's not a doubt about the matter, " pursued Sir George, "notthe shadow of a doubt. "

"Nevertheless there is something in what Dorothy urges, and wehad better make some sort of inquiry, " suggested the more cautiousStanley; "for thou hast many jealous enemies, Sir George, who wouldgladly score a triumph over thee an they had but half a chance. "

"Sir Ronald Bury, for instance, " added Margaret. 

"But why Sir Ronald?" asked De Lacey. "He is a simple enough knight, Itrow. "

"Pooh, I care naught for him, " replied Sir George Vernon; "he isjealous of the beauty of my daughters. "

"And wants a husband for his child, " added Lady Maude. 

"Let him want, then, " testily returned the baron. "He may turn greenwith envy for aught I care. I'll do it to his face, I will. "

But in the end wiser counsels prevailed, and the knight gave way sofar as to order a trial of touch--a superstitious form of trial muchrelied upon in the times when witchcraft was commonly believed in. 

The witching hour of twilight was chosen for this crude but solemntrial, and at the time appointed a large crowd was gathered in thegreat courtyard of Haddon in obedience to a mandate of the King of thePeak, which they dared not disobey. 

As the crowd swayed to and fro it was in marked contrast to the usualway in which they were wont to assemble within the great walls ofHaddon. No loud laugh or sound of boisterous merriment broke thestillness of this solemn eventide; no tricks were attempted now uponunconscious friends, and even the almost invariable little groups ofadmirers listening to the marvellously strange tales of those whohad crossed the seas were not to be found. All was silent save thescreeching of the owls every now and again, and the subdued humof conversation which rose up from the awestruck assembly as theypatiently awaited the test which was to bring home the guilt of themurderer. 

They had a long time to wait, and the moon had long been out beforethe proceedings were properly commenced. 

A loud blast from the trumpets of the sentries gave the firstintimation of the approach of the head of the house of Vernon. Thegreat gates swung open and Sir George slowly advanced through thethrong, which respectfully fell back on either side and made an openpassage for him. A few yards behind followed a bare-headed priest, chanting prayers for the departed, and heading a diminutiveprocession, in the midst of which the body of the unfortunate pedlarwas carried on a bier. They stopped at the foot of the steps whichstretch across the courtyard; the doleful chant ceased, and animpressive hush fell upon the assembly, as with bated breath theyawaited the next scene in the awful drama. 

Sir George did not hurry himself, for it was necessary to the successof the ordeal that the culprit, whoever that was, should be dulyimpressed with a sense befitting the character of the moment, and alittle suspense, he shrewdly guessed, would tend to make the guiltyone tremble and offer signs which would make detection the easier. 

At last he spoke. 

"Mary Durden, Joel Cobbe, Henry Bridge, and Nathan Grene, step out, "he said, "take the oath; touch the body in our presence, and proveyour innocence if you are able. "

Every whisper was smothered into silence as they watched to see theindividuals named perform the test. No one stirred, however, and theorder had to be repeated. 

"Mary Burden, Joel Cobbe, Henry Bridge, and Nathan Grene, " thunderedthe baron, "I command you to answer to your names, or by your silenceshall you be condemned. "

Joel Cobbe and Henry Bridge, two of the most disreputable men in thewhole district, went forward in company, and succeeded in touching thebody without a rupture of blood taking place or the body moving itsposition one iota. 

"Mary Durden, spinster, Nathan Grene, locksmith, " repeated Sir George, "answer to this third, last challenge, or thy last hope of escape isgone. "

Nathan Grene, fuming with ill-concealed rage, stepped out, and a loudshriek announced the presence of Mary Durden, who was unwillinglypushed into view by those around her. As soon as she had gained thelittle open space that was yet left she fell upon the ground andswooned away. 

"See, " said one, "the witch is guilty, she dare not touch the body. "

"Drown her, " shouted another. "Drown her or burn her. "

The clouds which for some time had been gathering together, andwhich by this time had completely obscured the moon, now burst with atorrent of rain. A flash of lightning for a brief moment illuminatedthe scene, and then died away again, leaving it more weird even thanit had been before. A faint roll of thunder broke upon the unpleasantreverie into which the company had fallen, and Sir George's voiceordering the oil lamps to be lighted, somewhat reassured the morefearful among the spectators. A long five minutes elapsed before thelights appeared, minutes of darkness and suspense, disturbed onlyby the flashes of lightning and peals of thunder, which rapidly grewlouder in sound. 

Nathan Grene had touched the body, and the trial had proclaimed himinnocent. Indeed, Sir George fully expected it would do so, seeingthat Nathan had been fast bound in the stocks at the time the crimewas perpetrated. His name had only been called out because the baronhad a standing dislike to the man. But the woman still lay on therough stones without offering a sign of life. 

"Sir George, is that the witch?" asked De Lacey. 

"It is. "

"Then she is praying to her master the devil. Listen!"

In the dread stillness of those awful minutes it was not difficult todiscover that she was moaning. The crowd was stricken with terror, andcatching up the words which Sir John had let fall, reiterated the crywhich even yet added to the dismal terror of the scene. 

"This cannot long endure, " said Sir George, as a vivid flash oflightning almost, for the moment, blinded him. 

A long, loud roll of thunder, which terminated in a crashing peal, wasthe only answer he received, and while the noise was at its loudest, Mary Durden started to her feet and dashed forward to touch the body. 

She just reached the bottom of the steps when, catching her footon the uneven pavement of the yard, she over-balanced herself, andtumbled heavily upon the bier, almost knocking the body off as shefell. 

"Guilty!" eagerly shouted Sir George; "she is guilty; seize her. "

But before he had finished the sentence, Mary had turned and fled, and far from attempting to hinder her in her headlong flight, theawe-struck people, one and all, shrunk eagerly back to escape beingbrought into contact with one who had just given such unmistakableproofs of witchcraft, and who had been condemned a murderess by thealmost infallible ordeal of the bier. 

CHAPTER V. 

A VISIT TO NOTTINGHAM. 

 One sole desire, one passion now remains, To keep life's fever still within his veins. Vengeance, dire vengeance, on the wretch who cast On him and all he had the ruinous blast. 

 MOORE. 

It was upon the third day after the occurrences narrated in the lastchapter had taken place that a lonely traveller might have been seenurging his way across the fields just outside the town of Nottingham. The gates closed at dusk: it was now past sunset, and he hastenedforward to gain admittance. 

It was the man known at Haddon by the name of Nathan Grene, thelocksmith, whose actions had ever been at variance with his character, and whose nature had always seemed to have been unequally yoked withthe common occupation of a smith. 

Nathan, in fact, was no true smith. He was a brother-in-law ofSir Ronald Bury, and having taken up the practice of astrology andalchemy, this fact had been seized upon by his foes, and he hadbeen obliged to fly in disguise to save himself from one of thosepersecutions which were so readily and frequently levelled against thefollowers of the "black arts. "

In the character of a locksmith he had lived for some months in anuneasy state of security at Haddon. The lack of comfort which he wascompelled to experience in his new position being compensated for insome small degree by the kind attentions he had received at the handsof the widow Durden, which began directly upon his arrival, and whichsoon rapidly ripened into a sincere regard for each other, and fromthat eventually progressed into love. 

Being well born, Nathan Grene--or rather Edmund Wynne, for such washis proper name--had never taken kindly to the conditions imposed uponhim by the disguise he had chosen to assume. He had never sought forwork, and had done as little of it as he possibly could, and hehad held aloof from the people around him, treating them with asupercilious indifference which they were not slow to resent. Undersuch conditions it was by no means surprising that he was decidedlyunpopular in the neighbourhood, and the dislike to him was heightenedby the intimacy which grew up between himself and the woman who wasregarded as a witch. 

It was for his vigorous defence of Mary Durden that he had been placedin the stocks. His whole spirit revolted from such a degradation; hehad pleaded and had raged, but all in vain, and even Dorothy's appealon his behalf had failed to save him from the bitter humiliation. 

The ordeal, again, had been a very trying scene for him, and hisannoyance was more than doubled when he saw how his beloved wasbeing persecuted by her neighbours and oppressed by the baron. As sheescaped through the gateway he made up his mind to strike Sir Georgedown, but in spite of his resistance he was carried out beyond thelimits of the Hall in the wild rush that took place when the firstmoment of surprise and terror had passed away. 

All night long he lay upon the floor of his little smithy ponderingschemes of revenge, but when he ventured out on the following morningall his ideas were dispelled by the sight which met his gaze, forthere was Mary Durden hanging from the branch of a tree at the foot ofthe slope which led up to the gateway of the Hall. 

He rubbed his eyes in sheer astonishment and looked again, but thesecond view only confirmed the vision of the first. His worst fearswere realised; his Mary was dead!

Mechanically he walked to the tree; there was a paper fastened to itupon which was some writing in the hand of the baron. He read it:--

 MARY DURDEN. 

 THE STORM AVAILED HER NAUGHT. 

Impatiently he snatched it down, and tearing it into a hundredfragments, cast them down upon the ground, and slowly turning on hisheels, he walked homewards, utterly dejected and cast down, and with abitter heart. The last tie which bound him to Haddon was now severed, and he longed to get away. 

In melancholy silence he dug a grave in the little garden behindhis lowly cottage, and then, with all the coolness which is lent bydesperation, he proceeded again to where the body was hanging, and cutit down. He had brought another paper with him, and this he affixed inexactly the same place as the one he had destroyed. It was laconicalenough, for it had but one word, and that was

 REVENGE!

He laid the body in the grave, and put some plants upon the top, andthen, after watering them with the tears which copiously ran down hischeeks, he turned his back on Haddon, and started for Nottingham withfew regrets, leaving behind him little enough to love, and much to berevenged. 

Footsore and weary he hastened to the Chapel Bar, glad indeed tofind himself so near the end of his journey; but before he had quitereached it he had the mortification to hear the sound of the closingbell, and when he arrived there the gates were shut. 

"Ho, ho, there, porter!" he cried, and he violently kicked the ironpost by way of emphasis to the call. 

"Aye, aye, there; steady now, thou'rt over late, " replied the burlyporter as he tantalisingly rattled the heavy keys in his hand. 

"Yes, but only a minute, " Edmund replied; "you can let me in, and youwill. "

"Nay, master, not till next sunrise, " he returned. Edmund groaned. 

"But I cannot stay outside all night, " he said. "Come, open the gate, there's a good fellow. "

"I were like to lose my position if I did, " answered the other. "Icannot unless--, " and he significantly jingled some coins in hispocket. 

"Unless what?"

The gatekeeper thought Edmund Wynne uncommonly dull of comprehension, and with a little hesitation he suggested that it were surely worth atrifle if he did break through the rule. 

"Here, here's a groat then, " exclaimed the smith, bringing out hislast coin as he saw the other moving away. 

"Pooh, a sorry groat!" said the keeper, "Make it two, and then!"

"But I must get in to-night, " expostulated Edmund, "I have urgentbusiness with Sir Ronald Bury. It is important, it is a matter of theState. "

At the mention of Sir Ronald's name the key was inserted in the lock, and by the time the sentence was completed the great gate was swungopen, and the visitor found himself, to his great satisfaction, beyondthe barrier. 

"I was but jesting, " humbly said the man as he re-locked the gate;"for you must well know that we are not allowed to take bribes, thoughwhere the harm of it would be, I confess I cannot see. "

Having succeeded in passing the barrier, Edmund did not stay to arguethe question with the gatekeeper. He turned his steps towards theCastle, and in a very few minutes found himself at its embattledentrance. 

The gates, of course, were fastened, but the bell-rope was hangingdown, so seizing hold of that he gave it a vigorous pull. 

"Holloa, my hearty, what's amiss?" asked a stentorian voice. "That'sthe third summons to-night. "

"I want to see the constable of the Castle, " replied the traveller. 

"Well, thou hadst better hie thee to London, and happen, if you'relucky, you may find him there. "

"Sir Ronald at London!" exclaimed Edmund, in blank dismay. 

"Sir Ronald!" repeated the other. "No, the Earl of Rutland. "

"But Sir Ronald Bury?"

"He's the deputy-constable. "

"Well, I would see him. Is he here?"

"Yes, he is here, " responded a gruff voice. "I am Sir Ronald; who artthou? What dost thou require at this time o' night?"

"I want to see thee privately, upon a matter of much importance, "answered the pseudo smith, somewhat annoyed not to be recognised byhis brother-in-law. 

"See if he has any weapons on him, Wilton, " said the knight, "and lethim enter if there is no suspicion of foul play. It will go badly withhim, though, I trow, has he ventured here on no sufficient reason. "

Wilton approached him to obey his master's commands, but Edmund wavedhim back by an imperious gesture of the arm. 

"Nay, cousin Ronald, " he exclaimed in high dudgeon. "It is beyond ajoke to take matters so far. Ellice might well expect that a littlekinder treatment would have been extended to her brother at the handsof her husband. "

"Eh, what! Are you Edmund; risen from the grave?" asked the knight inhigh surprise. 

"I am Edmund, sure enough, " was the reply, "but I have not risenfrom the grave. I am not astrologer enough for that. This is a sorrywelcome, and no mistake. "

"Faith, man, how could I tell it were thee? We thought thee deadtwelve months agone. Come in, man, come in; there's no occasion forthee to tarry there now. Let him in, Wilton, and be sure the gates arewell fastened to-night. Robert and Lucy will be right glad to see youagain, " he said, "especially Little Robert, who has never forgottenthose little iron toys that you made for him two years ago. "

Edmund Wynne needed no second invitation. He hurried through the openportals and the two walked up together towards the inhabited part ofthe building. 

"This is indeed a strange surprise, " began Sir Ronald, as soon as theywere out of danger of being overheard. "We felt sure that thou wastdead, and have often thought of thee. Where hast thou been?"

"Hiding in the country. I have been a village smith. "

"A smith!" cried the knight. "Then that fancy of yours for workingwith metals has stood thee in good stead for once?"

"It has indeed; but it was a base use withal. "

"Thou has been well hidden, for Her Majesty's servants have scouredthe country to discover your where-about. "

"I have been at Haddon in the Peak, " he replied. 

"Haddon: phew! Do you know that arrogant knight, Sir George Vernon?"

"Do I know him?" echoed Edmund. "Would to heaven I had never cast myeyes upon him. "

"Ah! he has stung thee too, I perceive?" exclaimed Sir Ronald. "I hatehim like poison. It should go ill with him did I ever have the power. I hear he is a Papist; cannot we prove aught against him on thatscore?" and the excited knight wistfully regarded his companion'sface, waiting for a favourable reply. 

"I should like some supper first, " drily suggested the toil-worntraveller, "and then, " he added, "I may satisfy your eagerness to thefullest extent. I have a score of my own against him to clear off yet, and, what is more to the point, Ronald, I have the power. It was forthat I came to visit you. "

"Ha!" ejaculated the knight, expectantly. "He can satisfy my cravingto the fullest extent, " he mused. "This is fortunate. "

"Yes, " continued Edmund, "we shall have him cited to London; he issurely within our power. He hath grievously broken the law, and willhave to answer to the charge of murder and treason; and if we cannotcompass his ruin, then, between us, I have other ways, of which no manknows. "

"Hush, " said Sir Ronald. "That led thee into trouble aforetime. Hereis Lettice coming down the steps. "

"That is not Nicholas with her, surely?" exclaimed Edmund. 

"No, Nicholas has discarded us and turned monk, I hear, but wherehe is I cannot tell. That is John Manners, the nephew of the Earl ofRutland. He is after my Lucy, I trow. "

"Manners, Manners, John Manners, " murmured Edmund; "I have heard thatname before. I have met him somewhere I am sure. "

"Well, hither he comes, " said the knight; "now do you remember him?"

As soon as Edmund caught sight of the young man's face he recognisedhim. 

"Why, " he exclaimed, "that's--I know him well enough: I have seen himat Haddon. "

"At Haddon!"

"Yes, let me hide myself; I would rather not meet him here; it werebetter so for both of us. Where shall I go, tell me; quick?"

"Steady, ho! steady, man, " said the knight. "Hie thee back again tothe lodge and wait for me there. Wilton shall let you share his supperif thou wilt. I will tell them you are a gardener if they ask aughtabout thee, " and in answer to the beckoning of his wife, Sir Ronaldleft his newly-discovered relation and hastened across the green. 

CHAPTER VI. 

DE LA ZOUCH INDULGES IN A LITTLE VILLANY. 

 If I can do it By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, She shall not long continue love to him. 

 SHAKESPEARE. 

The Courtly hall of Haddon was never quiet for long together, and verysoon both the death of the witch and the warning of the locksmithwere forgotten amid the preparations which were being made for a grandball. Sir Thomas Stanley, having wooed Margaret, had successfullypetitioned the sanction and blessing of Sir George and Lady Vernon, and the event was to celebrate their betrothal. 

The morning of the festive day had opened fair, and as the day spedon, the guests rapidly assembled. De Lacey was there, delighting theladies, as usual, with his braggadocio. Manners and Crowleigh wereboth there too, by special invitation, and, of course, cousin Benedictà Woode, who made no scruple of inviting himself to Haddon Hall if byany means his invitation had not come; and also, to Dorothy's greatdisgust, Sir Henry de la Zouch was there. 

The musicians struck up a lively tune, and very soon the steamingboar's head was placed upon the table. Father Philip pronounced a verylong benediction, and the singing of an old Latin rhyme beginning--

 "Caput apri defero, "

announced that the feast had commenced in earnest. The venison pastiesof Margaret's make disappeared with a truly marvellous rapidity, whileDorothy's confections had a very short lease of life, and fared nobetter, either because they were nice or that Dorothy was the maker ofthem. 

"Pass round the wine, " hailed the baron, "and drink to the health ofthe ladies of Haddon Hall. "

"Hurrah!" vociferously replied the guests, "to the health of theladies of Haddon. "

"But stay; what's the matter with Master Manners?" asked De la Zouch, whose eagle eye had discovered that HIS tankard was not upraised withthe rest. "A discourteous guest, upon my troth. "

"May I drink it in water?" asked Manners, as he felt the eyes of hishost fixed sternly upon him. 

"Nay, you must have the wine, sir, " replied Sir George, "but whetherit goes down your throat or your arm makes little matter, " and as hespoke he pointed to the iron ring fastened in the door post ready forsuch contingencies. 

"I suppose the arm must have it, then, " he replied, "for I am sworn totaste no wine until I have performed a solemn vow. "

"Waste good wine!" exclaimed De Lacey, as he gazed in blankastonishment at the speaker; "what a pity. "

"Have you forsworn ale too?" asked Dorothy. 

"No, only wine, sweet demoiselle, " replied Manners, smiling as hecaught the drift of the question. 

"Then fill his glass with ale, " commanded Doll, "and drink the toastwithout delay. "

This happy suggestion was loudly applauded, and the healths were drunkoff amid acclamation, the only one who did not heartily join in itbeing Sir Henry de la Zouch, who was annoyed to find that hispetty attempt to spite his rival had failed, and that, too, by theintervention of Dorothy herself. 

"Confound it all, " he muttered, "he shall not escape me like this. Eustace. "

"Did you call?" asked the page, bending down. 

"Yes, " whispered De la Zouch. "Listen, you remember the Derbypackman?"

"Aye, too well, I do. "

"Nonsense, " he replied, softly; "Master Manners killed him. "

"Oh!" gasped the astounded page. 

"Remember, " added his master, "it was Manners. "

"Yes, Master John Manners, " repeated Eustace. 

"Hush, that is all. A little more of that delicious jelly of yours, sweet Dorothy, " he added in a louder tone as he turned round again tothe table. 

Whilst the feast was progressing, De la Zouch was pondering thefittest way of broaching the topic which lay so heavily upon his mind. Sir Thomas Stanley had won the elder sister, he argued, why should henot win the younger? He clearly saw that Dorothy was receding from hisgrasp, and that the longer he delayed, the fainter grew his chance ofsuccess. Lady Vernon daily grew less favourable too, he noticed, andso without delay he resolved to ask Dorothy for her hand. The presentoccasion was most propitious, and he determined to carry his plan intooperation at once. 

When the meal was ended--and that was not very soon--the company brokeup into little parties and separated, to amuse themselves in whateverfashion they liked best. Margaret, as the heroine of the day, wassurrounded by a number of knights and ladies, who contentedly watchedher as she played at chess with Benedict. Sir John de Lacey racked hisbrains to the uttermost in order to sufficiently garnish the veraciouslittle scraps of his own autobiography, and succeeded both in makingthe group around him open their eyes wide with surprise, and at thesame time in making his listeners roar with laughter. 

A marvellous hero was Sir John. He had been the ruling spirit in morethan one Continental Court during his one brief sojourn in France. Hehad slain dragons, in different parts of the globe, in numbers enoughto make St. George turn green with envy; and only his excessivemodesty has prevented his name from being handed down to posterity. 

Manners, naturally enough, joined Dorothy's party, and went out uponthe lawn to take part in a game at bowls. 

"Dear me, how careless I am to-day, " she exclaimed; "there are six ofus, and I have only brought four balls; I must fetch some more, " andshe started to go back. 

"Let me go, " said Manners. 

"You, " replied Doll, "you could never find them; I will go, and youmust entertain the ladies while I am away, " and she tripped across thegreen to the Hall. 

"Ha, Doll, dearest, " said a voice, as she turned the corner of theterrace, "I have been searching for thee. "

Dorothy turned round and met the gaze of Sir Henry de la Zouch. 

"For me!" she exclaimed, without pausing. 

"Nay, prithee, now don't hurry so, " he replied, catching hold of herarm, "I would ask thee a weighty question. "

"But I am in a great hurry, " she replied. 

"Then I shall not keep thee long, but thou canst stay a little while, surely?"

"Indeed, I cannot, Sir Henry, " she replied. "There are some visitorsawaiting my return. "

"John Manners for one, " sneered the knight. 

Dorothy blushed deeply, and bit her lip to repress the sharp retortwhich came readily to her tongue. Sir Henry saw that he had committedan error, and he endeavoured to recover his position. 

"Sir Thomas has wooed thy sister Margaret, " he exclaimed, "and I havelong been wooing thee, and now the time has come when I am to offeryou my hand. "

Dorothy struggled to get away, but her suitor held her fast. 

"Nay, cruel one, " he continued, "I must have an answer. I shall bean earl in good time, perchance, and if you will but say 'aye' to myproposal you may be a countess--think of it, Dorothy, a countess--andthe hostess of Ashby Castle. "

He let go his hold of her, and dropping down upon his knee, heraised his clasped hand in the most approved fashion of the time, andcontinued his suit. 

"Dorothy, " he went on, "will you--?"

"Never, " she replied, cutting him short in the middle of his speech, and, finding herself at liberty, she rushed precipitately into theHall. 

De la Zouch gazed after her in mute astonishment, and, staggered as hewas, he remained in the same position until he was startled by a voicebehind him. 

"At prayers, sir knight?" asked the baron. "Father Phillip's grace atthe table was long enough to serve me through the day. "

"No, Sir George, " replied the crestfallen lover, "I have been pleadingmy suit with Dorothy. "

"And what said she?"

"She is bashful. "

"What! My Doll bashful? That were hardly polite to thee, methinks. "

"Perchance I should have more success with thee?" pleaded Sir Henry, as pathetically as he could. 

"Let us withdraw into the bower, then, " replied Sir George, "we cantalk it over there, and we shall not be disturbed. Ha! here comes LadyVernon, she will know what to do. "

Lady Vernon came up at the bidding of her lord. The lover would fainhave seen Sir George alone, but there was no help for it, and he hadto brave the circumstances with the best grace possible. 

"Maude, we must take your counsel, " began the baron. "Sir Henry de laZouch would take advantage of to-day's festivity to ask for the handof Doll. What think you; can we spare her too, as well as Margaret? Weshould lose them both together then. What dost thou advise?"

"That depends upon many things, " replied the stately dame, as sheseated herself. "Dorothy would be a splendid match for anybody. Whathas Sir Henry to say?"

"I hope to be an earl soon, " he replied, "and she would be a countessas you will. My father is infirm, he cannot live much longer, andI expect news of his death from Florence every day. And as for theestates, though they may not be equal to those of Haddon, yet they areby no means insignificant. "

Dame Vernon knew all this, and the knowledge of it had influenced herbefore; but lately she had heard ill tidings of Sir Henry, and shewas by no means so enthusiastic on his behalf. And, besides, a freshcompetitor had entered the lists. 

"Humph, " growled the old knight, "we don't want to sell the girl. "

"Be quiet, Sir George, " interrupted his worthy spouse. "The thing mustbe done properly. Does Ashby Castle fall to your share, sir knight?"she asked. 

"Certainly. To whom else should it go?"

"Have you spoken to Doll about it?" continued the dame. 

"She is too dutiful a daughter to commit herself without the consentof her parents, " answered De la Zouch. "But I doubt not, that whenonce again you have spoken to her, I shall speedily be rewarded withsuccess. "

"Ay, " exclaimed Sir George, "Doll was ever a dutiful child. "

"She would bow to our will, anyway, " replied Lady Vernon, "but I thinkshe has another suitor. We must think the matter well over ere wesettle anything. "

"Another suitor, " laughed the baron; "why there are scores of them. "

"Ah, you see, Sir Henry, the baron has not the quick, discerning eyeof a mother--or a love either, " she added shyly. "Bless his innocence, he knows naught of it yet. Sir George, I trust Master Manners is atrusty young man?"

"John Manners is goodly enough, forsooth, for aught I trow, " returnedthe King of the Peak, reflectively. "Aye, and a likely enough youngman, too!"

"But Manners cannot seek the hand of so guileless a maiden as sweetDorothy, " interrupted the dismayed lover. "His hands are stained withblood. "

"A soldier should do his duty, " quickly returned Sir George. "

"But he is a murderer!"

"That is a bold statement, De la Zouch, to make against a guest ofmine, " exclaimed the baron quickly, "and I fear an thou persist in itthat it will prove awkward for thee if thou canst not prove it, andworse still for him if it be true. "

"Are you certain of it?" asked Lady Maude. 

"I have a witness, " was the calm reply. 

"Then by my halidame, " quoth the irate knight, "as I'm a justiceo' the peace, he shall be faced with the offence. When was itperpetrated?"

"At the hawking party. "

"What, here at Haddon?"

"You don't mean the pedlar, surely?" inquired Lady Vernon. 

"Aye, but I do; he was murdered in the wood. "

"Tut, " angrily exclaimed Sir George, "'tis all a tale, and I for onedon't believe a word of it. The witch killed him, and was punished forit too. "

"But I saw it, " stubbornly returned Sir Henry, "and I have a witness;one who saw it done. "

"We tried Dame Durden by the ordeal, an she was found guilty andhanged, " persisted the baron. "And, beshrew me, that's enough for anyman"; and the Lord of Haddon reverently crossed himself to show thatthe trial had had the approval of his conscience. 

"But, " urged De le Zouch, "I tell you I saw it done myself, and I amready to prove it any way you choose. "

"Come now, Sir George, " interrupted Lady Vernon, "the trial may foronce have led us astray, as it did in the case of Thomas Bayfordsixteen years ago. Doubtless Mary Durden got no more than shedeserved, and mayhap she was punished for deeds we wot not of. Perchance Master Manners would not deny the charge if he were here, and faith! I remember me now that Margaret did say he was left behindwith Dorothy, and then Doll left him and galloped on. "

"Yes, that was it, " Sir Henry said, "and Eustace, who was left behind, saw them quarrelling and fetched me back to stay the strife. "

"Well, prithee now, go on, " exclaimed the knight. "You saw him killed, and said naught?"

"No. "

"And let me hang another for it. Truly, 'tis a right noble way totreat a host. "

"Nay, you are too hard upon me. I thought he was but thrashingthe knave, and as that was no affair of mine I left him to it, butafterwards his body was found in exactly the same spot. I was awaywhen the ordeal was performed, else I had told thee what I had seen. Eustace will bear me out in all I have told you; question him foryourselves. But now, if you still think well enough of Master Mannersto mate him with the peerless Dorothy, I am sorry alike for her andyour vows of knighthood. "

"Come that is right enough, " exclaimed the dame, "and Master Mannershas not denied the accusation yet. "

"Then he shall soon have the opportunity, " said the baron, "for hitherhe comes; he could not have come at a readier moment. "

John Manners had waited a long time for Dorothy's return, and now, half fearing that some accident had befallen her, he had willinglyacceded to the request of the ladies and had set forth to find her. Hearing voices in the house, he approached it to pursue his inquiries, when the watchful eye of Sir George Vernon immediately espied him. 

"Pardon my intrusion, " exclaimed Manners, "but I am in searchof Mistress Dorothy. She left us to fetch some balls and has notreturned. "

"Hie, man, " interrupted Sir George, "we have a serious chargepreferred against thee; thou art just come right to answer it. "

"Have I been stealing some fair maiden's heart?" he laughinglyinquired. 

"Nay, listen! 'tis a charge of murder; but I tell thee frankly, Idon't believe a word of it. "

"A charge of murder, " echoed Manners blankly, "a charge of murder, andagainst me! This is past endurance, 'tis monstrous! Whom have I slain, I pray thee tell me?"

"The Derby packman, " promptly returned De la Zouch, "and thou knowestI saw thee do it. "

"You lie. I never saw the man until he was dead. Thou shalt prove thywords, Sir Henry de la Zouch, " returned the esquire, "or I shall havethee branded as a knave. There is some cause for this, Sir George, "he added, turning to the baron, "of which I am in ignorance. I am thevictim of some plot. "

"Like enough, like enough, " returned the baron, sympathetically. "Thenyou deny the charge? I knew De la Zouch was wrong. The ordeal--"

"But I saw him myself, and so did Eustace, " stuck out the disappointedlover; "and Margaret remembers that Master Manners was left behind. "

"And for the matter of that, so were you, " said Sir George sharply. 

"And Eustace is but a page who must, perforce, obey his master's willin everything, " continued Manners. "Crowleigh was with me all the day, save when I went back to Mistress Dorothy. How tallies that with youraccount, eh?"

"That was precisely the time it occurred, and bears me out in all thatI have said, " glibly responded the scion of the house of Zouch. "Itall but proves his guilt, Sir George. "

"Nay, not so much as that, " quoth Lady Maude; "but since it cannot beagreed upon, I should advise you to let the matter drop. "

"Stop, " exclaimed Manners. "If De la Zouch has a spark of honour leftwithin him he will step out and measure swords with me, for by mytroth I swear he will have to render me the satisfaction my honourdemands. "

This was by no means to the taste of the knight of Ashby. He had notcalculated for such a course as this; but, fortunately for him, LadyVernon spoke, and unwittingly released him from his difficulty. 

"Nay, not before me, " she said, "and on so festal a day as this. "

"As you will it, " said De la Zouch, assuming an air of injureddignity. 

"They must settle it in true old knightly fashion at the tourney, "exclaimed Sir George decisively. 

"Since you command it I suppose I must obey, " replied Sir Henry; "butI had rather not have stained my weapons with the blood of so foul acaitiff. "

"You will be good enough to leave me to decide that matter, " said thebaron testily. 

"Then, by St. George, I shall be ready, " replied Manners. "I am aswell born as he, and can give him a lesson or two in good breeding, besides showing him a trick or two with the sword that I learned inthe Netherlands. In the meantime I disdain him as a dog;" and boilingover with rage the maligned esquire left the little group and stalkedacross the terrace to rejoin the ladies on the green. 

CHAPTER VII. 

DOROTHY OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 

 The cruel word her heart so tender thrilled, That sudden cold did run through every vein; And stoney horror all her senses filled With dying fit, that down she fell for pain. 

 SPENSER. 

And, meanwhile, where was the innocent cause of this disturbance?

Dorothy had been half expecting some such course of action on thepart of De la Zouch for some time past, and had carefully prepareda stinging answer which should once and for ever decide the questionbetween them. Though she was petted and admired on almost every hand, yet she had sense enough to value such conduct at its proper worth;and whilst with the coquetry of a queen of hearts she accepted all thehomage that love-sick cavaliers brought to her, she looked below thesurface, and had a private opinion of her own about all those withwhom she was brought into contact. 

Her opinion of Sir Henry de la Zouch was distinctly unfavourable tothat knight; for, with the instinct of a woman, she had divined fromthe very beginning that his motives were more mercenary than genuine, and in spite of all his protestations of love towards her, he hadfailed to convince her that he loved her for herself alone. A littlewatching on her part had quickly convinced her that the dislike shefelt for him was not without sufficient reason, and as the evidenceagainst him accumulated, she congratulated herself that she hadescaped the clutches of a villain of so wily a disposition. 

Long before the appearance of John Manners she had determinedlyrefused all the advances of her would-be lover, and his every attempthad been met by her with chilling sarcasm; or, were she in a lightermood, she had retreated into safer ground under cover of a burst ofmerriment. Had De la Zouch been possessed of ordinary perceptions hewould have noticed that his conduct was alienating Dorothy from himmore and more; but, like many others, he was so eager to gain his endsthat he was partially blind as to the means employed. 

The manner in which Sir Henry had just preferred his suit had takenher so completely by surprise that she had entirely forgotten what shemeant to say; but the indignation she felt at his conduct indetaining her against her will would have deprived her of the powerof expressing the prettily turned speech so long prepared, even if shehad remembered it. She fled into the house, and without casting a lookbehind to see if she were being pursued or not, she rushed through thedeserted state chambers and never stopped until she found herself inher own room and had turned the key in the lock. 

She flung herself down upon the bed, and her overwrought feelingsfound relief in tears. How long she would have so remained would beimpossible to say, but she had barely succeeded in locking herself inwhen she was startled by a gentle rap at the door. 

She stopped her sobbing and listened. Surely De la Zouch would neverventure to follow her to her own boudoir! No, it was incredible, andshe dismissed the idea. 

The silence was broken only by a second rap at the door. It was toogentle for Sir Henry, it must be her tire-maid, Lettice, or her sisterMargaret, maybe. She rose up, and in a tremulous voice inquired whowas there. 

"It is I, Lettice, your maid, " replied a gentle voice. 

Lettice was of all people just the one whom she stood in need of mostat such a moment, so she unfastened the door and let her in. 

"My lady is troubled, " exclaimed the maid, as she entered. "Is thereaught that I may do for thee?"

"Oh, Lettice, " she sobbed, as the tears chased each other down hercheeks in quick succession, "see that he does not come. Stop him, keephim outside. Don't let him come to me. "

"Who, my lady, whom shall I stop? No one dare follow thee here. "

Dorothy returned no answer, she was trembling all over withexcitement; she fell upon the bed and wept, while the sympatheticLettice could only look on in silence, and wonder what it all meant. 

"My lady is troubled, " she repeated at length. "Someone has beenfrightening thee. Tell me who it was! Who is it thou art feared wouldtry to come at thee here?"

Still there was no answer. 

"You ran through the hall, " the maid went on, "just like a frightenedhare, and cast never a look at one of us, and now--the saints preserveus, thou look'st as if thou hadst seen the ghost of Mary Durden. "

"Was he following me, Lettice?" asked Dorothy, raising her head fromthe pillow. "Was he there?"

"Following thee, no. Who's he? There was no one else went through. "

"I thought he was close behind. "

"Who?"

"De la Zouch. "

"Sir Henry de la Zouch!" repeated the maid. "'Tis he then who has beentreating thee so ill. Were he not a noble, my Will should thrash himsoundly for daring to offend so sweet a lady. "

"Take these balls to Master Manners, Lettice, " said her mistress, composing herself as well as she was able. "You will find him waitingfor them on the bowling green. Tell him I will rejoin him soon. "

Lettice unfastened the door and disappeared down the passage inobedience to the command whilst Dorothy re-arranged her disorderedhead-dress, hesitating the while whether to venture out again or tostay within doors. 

Ere she had decided which course to take, Lettice returned. Her facewas deeply flushed and her manner unusually agitated. 

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Dorothy. "Has he assailed thee, too?"

"He is telling the baron such a tale, " replied the maid. "He says thoulovest him, and he is asking Sir George and my lady for thy hand. O, Dorothy, believe me, 'tis only that thou art so fair and so rich thathe seeks thee, and when he has thy gold and the bloom of thy beautybegins to fade (which God forfend!) he will care naught for thee, andleave thee for another. "

"I know it, Lettice. "

"They are in the little bower, and I could hear everything, " pursuedthe maid. "That De la Zouch is jealous of another, and is seeking toget him out of the way. He says that Master Manners killed the pedlar, and 'fore heaven, we all know it was the witch. "

"Master Manners?" echoed Dorothy. 

"Yes, " returned the maid, "and he says he can prove it, but the goodknight, your father, won't believe him. Master Manners denies it, ofcourse--but lack-a-day, what ails thee now? Thou art as white as theveriest ghost!"

"'Tis nothing, " replied Doll, as she sank down into a chair. "I am atrifle faint; give me some water, Lettice. "

"Nay, but it is something, " returned the other, as she speedilycomplied with her mistress's behest. "Thou canst not throw me off likethat. Come, my good lady, tell me what it is; there are few things youhide from me. "

"There is nothing to tell you, Lettice, " she replied, "but prithee goon; what did Sir Henry de la Zouch make answer?"

"He said he had a witness, but I had to hasten away, for I heardfootsteps approaching; but come, I can read your secret; MasterManners will make a worthy knight. "

"Keep such thoughts to thyself, Lettice, " Dorothy blushingly replied. 

"Trust me, " said the maid, with a toss of her pretty head. "I will dothy bidding; but faith! you will be a comely pair. "

"Hush, or I shall be angry with thee. I tell thee he has said naughtyet. "

"And I tell thee, Mistress Dorothy, " returned Lettice, "he is head andears in love with thee. I would stake my troth on it; there!"

"I wish it were so, " sighed Dorothy, "for I love him dearly. "

"It is so, assuredly it is, " replied her companion, decisively. "Letme give him a hint, my lady. "

"No, Lettice, not another word; don't breathe it to a soul unless Ibid thee. "

"My Will could do it, " continued the other, "an you would but let himtry. He can do anything that way, Will can. "

"Be quiet, Lettice; and mind you take care of your tongue. No one musteven so much as guess at the truth; there, begone. "

"Happen you would like to see if they have settled the matter?"suggested the tire-maid; "let us go and see. "

Dorothy willingly agreed, and away they went through room after room, until at last Lettice stopped. 

"Let me open the window, " she said; "we shall hear better here thananywhere else, " and she stepped upon a chair and silently pushed thelatticed window open. The balmy breeze came pouring into the room, bringing in with it the sound of the conversation from outside. 

"That's splendid, " she said. "Now, my lady, listen. "

"I tell you it's of no use, Sir Henry. I don't believe a word of it. "

"Nevertheless, Sir George, it's perfectly true. "

"Well, I cannot believe it, " returned the baron, sharply, "but allthe same, you will have to fight him now. We shall make quite a grandaffair of it; 'tis a rare long time since there was a tournament atHaddon. "

"I had rather it passed off quietly, " suggested De la Zouch, who wasby no means confident of his own prowess in a stern contest with nakedweapons. "It is only by thy direct command that I have consented toenter the lists to fight him. 'Tis more a case for the assize than forthee. Sir George, and I have my honour to maintain. "

"You must let that remain with me, " replied the baron. "Eustace isbut a page, and as Manners rightly enough pointed out, his word wouldcount for little in such a circumstance. But apart from all suchconsiderations, I flatly tell you, Sir Henry, that I don't for aminute think him guilty. The ordeal--"

"Tut, bother the ordeal, " broke in De la Zouch, who was rapidly losingcontrol of his temper. "Then you doubt me?"

"You are rash, sir knight, " interrupted Lady Maude. "You do not doproper justice to the baron. "

"Hark! what's that?" whispered Lettice, "There's someone coming. "

"Inside?"

"No, don't you hear them coming on the gravel?"

"Listen, " exclaimed Doll, nervously, "'twas but Eustace, the page, stealing away; he's been playing eavesdropper. "

"Like us, " laughed the maid. 

"Hush! Sir Henry is talking. How excited he is. Listen. "

"I humbly crave his pardon then, fair lady. When shall I learn whatfate you have in store for me?"

"Not till after the tournament, at least, " promptly replied LadyVernon. 

"And that will be--prithee when?"

"This day week, and in the meantime I would advise you as a friend topractise well with your arms, " and, added the baron with grim humour, "say your prayers day by day, Sir Henry, for Manners has not fought inthe Netherlands for naught. "

"Then I shall present myself before you, Lady Vernon, at theconclusion of the tourney, " he loftily replied, "and I will have myanswer then. "

"If so be, that is, that there be aught left of thee to come, "supplemented Sir George, considerably nettled at the other's tone, "for I hear that Manners is terrible with the sword. "

"Thank you, sir baron, " was the proud retort, "but I have learntere now how to hold the lance, and can wield the mace;" and withoutdeigning to cast a look behind him he strode away in an ill humourwith himself and everybody else, to scowl in silence at the group ofmerrymakers on the green. 

"There, a pretty lover!" exclaimed Dorothy, as her suitor walked away, "but I have given him his answer. "

"Hush, my lady, " whispered the maid. 

"We shall be able to get it all arranged for a week to-day, and youshall be queen of the tourney, Maude, if it so please you. "

"I, Sir George? I indeed!" replied the dame. "Pooh! my queening daysare gone. It must be either Margaret or Dorothy. "

"Fancy, " whispered Lattice, "you the queen of the tournament!"

"Hush!"

"But I hear he is likely to lose the Ashby estates. Think of that, SirGeorge; think of that. He would be a poor man directly. "

"Why, how?"

"The Ashby estates were forfeited to the De la Zouches, but King Henrygranted them back before he died, and I hear they are like to go atlast. "

"It were a pity for Sir Henry, but in truth, Maude, I like him not. "

"Pooh, nonsense! He wants none of our pity, but I tell thee Dorothy istoo good a match to throw away upon him. "

"Perhaps so, Maude, " replied the baron; "it may be so, but I shallbe much mistaken if, after the tournament, he is able to ask for heragain, but if he does I will refer him to you. "

"That will do, Lettice, " said Dorothy. "I have heard quite sufficient. Shut the window; I will go now and see how they are faring on thebowling green. I have a lighter heart now. " And followed by a "Godspeed you" from her maid, she opened the door and passed out of theroom. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A TOURNAMENT. THE COMBAT. 

 At this the challenger, with fierce defy, His trumpet sounds; the challenged makes reply. 

 DRYDEN. 

Grass did not grow beneath the feet of the good people of Haddonduring the week which ensued. Inside the Hall everything was inconfusion and disorder. Rooms were being emptied of hangings which hadlain undisturbed repose for many a long year, and everybody was eagerto bring to light such old relics of previous tourneys which had evertaken place there as could be discovered outside, and the stir was notone whit less. The level sward through which the Wye rippled on itsway to join the Derwent, having once been selected as the battleground, was immediately transformed from a scene of lovely rusticpeacefulness to a very pandemonium of noisy workmen, out of whichslowly evolved tents and pavilions for the accommodation of thenumerous visitors who were expected to witness the struggle. 

The news had spread far and wide, and a large number of persons, attracted by the well-known splendour and hospitality of the King ofthe Peak, as well as by the desire to witness the rare exhibition ofa tournament, which was now about extinct, assembled at Haddon as thetime appointed for the fray drew nigh. 

At length the eventful morning dawned. Everything was fully prepared. The white tents, with their fluttering pennons of many lines, occupiedone side of the ground; the balconies, decked with their brightlycoloured hangings, faced them from the other side, and a slightlyelevated platform, upon which was the throne for the queen of thetourney, filled one end, while the other was left open for such of theneighbouring villagers as liked to come. 

Long before the appointed hour the space had been filled up by eagersightseers. Men and women, lads and lasses, old folk and young, all alike were there, tricked out in holiday attire. Not a coign ofvantage was lost sight of, and every tree which might reasonably havebeen expected to yield a glimpse of the scene was crowded by rustics, eager to gaze upon so rare an exhibition. Behind all rose the grey oldtowers of the Hall, which presented a very picturesque appearance asthe sun flashed upon its turrets, and its flags waved to and fro inthe gentle breeze. Haddon had witnessed many stirring scenes before, but surely never a more brilliant one than was about to be enacted. 

Jousts were divided into two classes. The "joust a plaisir" was a mereknightly display of skill, and was fought with weapons, the edges ofwhich were dulled; but the other, the "joust a l'outrance, " was ofa far more dangerous kind. Lances, swords, and even, occasionally, mace-like weapons with sharp spikes were used, and it rarely happenedthat serious injuries did not result, while not unfrequently it wasaccompanied by a fatal termination. 

Additional interest was attached to this tournament, inasmuch as itwas of the latter class, and when the sound of the herald's trumpetswas heard, a shout of admiration went up from the assemblage, as thegates swung open and the party descended from the Hall; and roundafter round of praise was accorded by the crowd as the cavalcadewended its way through it, and took up its allotted position in thetents and on the balconies. 

Without waiting any time Dorothy seated herself upon the throne, andgiving the signal to commence by waving a dainty little flag, thetrumpeters took it up and blew a loud blast upon their instruments. 

This was the summons for the combatants to appear, and amid thetumultuous greetings of the whole assembly, Manners and De la Zouchcame forward from either side of the balcony, and each, well protectedwith armour, stood leaning upon his charger while the herald readaloud the order of the King of the Peak, by whose command the tourneywas held. 

Having read it out, this functionary retired with all the graceand speed at his command; the trumpet sounded again, and the twoassailants leapt simultaneously into the saddle. A minute later thegalloping rush, the sound of contending horsemen, and the noise ofshivering lances told the outsiders that the conflict had begun. 

So terrible was the shock as the two met together in the centre ofthe ring that it seemed utterly impossible that either of them couldrecover from it, but after the first thrust and parry they each passedon, apparently uninjured, and wheeling their horses around, withlances couched they paused to spy out a weak point in the other'sdefence. 

Every breath was hushed, and every eye was strained, to the uttermostas the anxious onlookers stood on tiptoe to follow every movement ofthe competitors. 

But neither the knight nor the esquire appeared to be particularlyeager to commence the struggle. Each waited for the other to advance, and for a moment or two they stood perfectly still, keenly regardingeach other through the bars of their visors. 

"They are not going to fight, Sir George, " exclaimed De Lacey, inpiteous, tones, "and I've come all this weary way to see the sport. "

"Never fear, Sir John, " replied the baron cheerily, "you'll seesport enough soon; they will begin directly, but they don't know eachother's mettle yet. "

Even as he spoke Manners rode forward and the conflict was renewed. 

Sir Henry de la Zouch was famous at the London schools for hisbrilliant lance play, and many of his friends had accepted hisinvitation to witness his triumph; but, although it was anticipatedthat he would win easily enough with that weapon, it was feared by hiswell-wishers that unless he succeeded in placing his combatant horsde combat then, his chance of doing so with the sword would beconsiderably less. 

De la Zouch himself knew this, although he would not own it, and itmade him cautious. For a long time he stood carefully upon his guard, but at last, espying a favourable opportunity, he darted a fierceblow at the vizor of his opponent, hoping it would pierce the bars andtransfix itself there. It was a well-aimed thrust, and almost provedsuccessful, but, unfortunately for De la Zouch, Manners unwittinglyfoiled him by rising in his saddle at the same time to deliver asimilar blow at him, and instead of receiving the lance upon hishelmet, he caught it in the very centre of his breast-plate. Stillthe blow was delivered with so powerful a stroke that, standing in thestirrups as Manners was, it completely upset his balance, and he fellover. 

A great shout rose up at this feat, but Dorothy turned her face aside, fearing that he whom she loved was stricken down never to rise again, and wishing, for the fiftieth time, that she was in her own chamber, peacefully occupied in stitching at her tapestry. 

But the shout was broken off suddenly--to be succeeded the next momentby another, louder and more prolonged, for, although taken unawaresand overturned, Manners put into execution a trick he had learned inHolland, and sliding under the belly of the horse, he nimbly swunghimself up by the girths on the other side, and reseated himself inthe saddle, much to the astonishment of De la Zouch, who imaginedhe had unhorsed him, and much to the delight of the audience, whichgreeted him with plaudits again and again renewed. 

"See!" exclaimed De Lacey, with eyes wide open with astonishment, "where's he come from?"

"Never saw a neater thing in my life, " replied Sir George, enrapturedat the trick. "Look now!"

Sir John looked as he was bidden, and saw the astounded De la Zouchreceive a stinging blow on his arm from his opponent ere he hadrecovered from his surprise. 

As the lances of both were now broken, the trumpet sounded, and thecombatants, nothing loth, rode off for a few minutes' rest, and afresh supply of weapons. 

The latter having been procured, they very quickly renewed thestruggle, and this time De la Zouch had better fortune, for just asthe bugles were sounding for them to cease he pierced the joint ofManners' armour, and inflicted a nasty flesh wound upon his elbow. 

As the latter would not own himself vanquished, even at Dorothy'srequest, the conflict was resumed, and this time with swords, and herethe inferiority of De la Zouch was soon apparent. Though he was nomean swordsman, yet his opponent was far more than a match for him, and blow after blow was rained down upon him, whilst on his own partSir Henry was too busily engaged in defending himself to attempt toact on the offensive. He was hard pressed, and it was fortunate indeedfor him when the signal was given which called upon them both todesist awhile, in order to gain fresh breath, and to put to rights, asfar as they were able, the damages they had already received. 

The interval was filled up by the shouts of the onlookers, who nowmade up for their previous silence by loudly criticising the deedsof their respective champion, and vociferously calling out theirparticular favourite worthless instructions how to proceed when theconflict was continued. 

Eustace stood ready to receive his master, and give him cordialswherein to reinvigorate his nerves, while Crowleigh was in waiting inlieu of a page, to bathe his friend's wounds with water. 

The sight of blood, which slowly trickled from Manners' arm, remindedà Woode that he was a doctor, and, leaping from his seat, he clamberedover the balcony and rushed across the arena to where the woundedesquire was standing. 

"Let me see it, " he cried. "This must be stopped at once. Sir Henry, Ideclare you the winner of the----"

"Hold there, " cried Manners, "I have not yielded yet. "

"Leave him alone, Sir Benedict, " added Crowleigh. "He will make asorry example of De la Zouch even yet. "

"But, " persisted the old knight, "I declare----"

His speech was rudely cut short, for with a yell of pain he darted offacross the arena, closely followed by a huge mastiff, whose tail hehad been unfortunate enough to tread upon. 

With the doctor out of the way the conflict was speedily renewed. Itwas a terrible combat. De la Zouch, intent on ridding himself ofhis adversary, declared he would give no quarter, and, altering histactics, he hewed and lunged away with all the temerity of a man whofights for death or victory. 

Manners' superiority with the sword, however, was so apparent thatafter the restarting of the contest the final issue of it was neverfor a moment doubted, not even by the veriest tyro present. SirHenry's wild thrusts were parried with consummate ease, and while theknight's sword moved hither and thither with lightning-like rapidity, the trusty blade of the other moved equally quick, but with far morecertainty. 

He waited until De la Zouch began to tire before he exerted himself. The time came at last, and then with a few quick strokes he laid hisfoeman before him on the ground. 

"Strike!" shouted a score of voices. "Strike!"

The victor uplifted his sword, and poised it high above his head tobring it down with all his might. The people waited with throbbinghearts to witness the stroke which should finish the combat, butinstead of striking Manners paused and turned round. 

"Strike, man, strike!" yelled a chorus of onlookers. 

Humbly bowing before Dorothy, he magnanimously declared that the fateof his rival rested with her. 

"'Tis a tournament, not a murder, " decided Doll promptly; "you haveproved your cause, and if your foe will yield we are ready to sparehim. "

Amid the plaudits of the crowd, Manners bowed low upon his knee, kissed the hand held graciously out towards him. He murmured hisperfect acquiescence to her will, and was about to pass out of thering, an easy victor, when a horseman rode in, and without in anywayannouncing himself, he sprang off his horse and scanned the company. 

"What does this fellow want?" growled Sir George, as with knittedeyebrows he scrutinised the intruder. "Thou art a Royal messenger, " headded, turning to the man, who had advanced until he stood before thebaron. 

There was little sympathy between the Court at London and the King ofthe Peak, and the baron surmised little good from the arrival of thecourtier. As the latter urged his horse through the crowd, and enteredthe arena, Sir George anticipated trouble. 

"I want the King of the Peak, " replied the new comer. 

"I am Sir George Vernon. "

"Then, " replied the other, "I deliver into thine hand this summons, which cites thee to appear at Westminster to answer the charge ofslaying Mary Durden. "

The baron started with surprise, and thought for a moment of layingviolent hands upon the man, but a moment's reflection convinced him ofthe unwisdom of such an act. 

"And if I refuse to come, " he doggedly said, "what then?"

"Then you do so at your peril, " he replied, and leaping again uponhis horse, he departed as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving theawe-stricken assembly to disperse with much less pleasure than theyhad anticipated from the scene of such an exciting exhibition of manlyprowess. 

CHAPTER IX. 

AT THE COCK TAVERN, LONDON. 

 London! the needy villain's general home, The common sewer of Paris and of Rome. Here malice, rapine, accident conspire, And now a rabble rages, now a fire; Their ambush mere relentless villains lay, And here the fell attorney prowls for prey. 

 JOHNSON. 

Five days after the tournament had taken place, two travellers reinedin their steeds at the gates of the Cock Hostelry, just within theTemple Bar. They were dusty with hard riding, and evidently in no goodhumour with themselves nor with anyone with whom they were broughtinto contact--a result doubtless attributable to the discomforts of along journey on roads rough enough to try the patience of any man. 

The elder of the two, throwing the reins upon his horse's neck, alighted, and leaving the ostler to take the steed away, he strodequickly into the inn without uttering a word. The young man, however, got off his saddle in a more leisurely fashion, and before he followedhis companion he proceeded to the stable to see that the horses wereproperly attended to. 

"The old man is a trifle out of sorts, " the ostler ventured to remark, as they entered the yard together. 

"Perchance so, " returned the other, "but that is no affair of thine;but an you keep good care of his horse he will think well of thee. "

"Yes, yes; certainly!" replied the man, grinning. "I always look wellafter gentlemen's horses, I do. You'll not be wanting them in themorning, I suppose?

"Yes, no; that is--I don't think we shall, but anyway you had betterhave them in readiness, we may possibly want them for the returnjourney to-morrow: tend them well;" and leaving a few finalinstructions, Sir Thomas Stanley, for he it was, passed out of thestables and entered the parlour of the inn. 

Sir George Vernon was so engrossed in poring over a document whichlay stretched out on the table before him that he did not noticethe approach of his friend, and it was not until the latter inquiredwhether the meal was already ordered that the baron looked up and sawhim. 

"Oh, it's you, " he exclaimed; "yes, we shall fall to directly; but Iwant you just to look at this first. "

"What is it, " inquired Stanley, "the summons again?"

"The summons, of course, " replied Sir George, as he thrust it into theother's hands. 

"What did the attorney say?"

"He said it was a bad case; a very bad case. He said, in fact, that henever came across a more unpromising case for a client of his since heset himself up as a lawyer. "

"Humph!" returned Sir Thomas, "they always do say so. I tell you itwill come out all right in the end. "

"Happen so; but he says the ordeal would go for nothing, they don'tcount now in courts of law here. They would do if the trial came offat Derby, I know. "

"Aye, " assented his friend, "I'll warrant it would count there, forno one would dare to resist thee; but you see, Sir George, it's atLondon, and that makes all the difference. "

"Warder, read the summons through, " pursued the baron. "I could notunderstand it, of course, I'm not much of a lawyer; but he says 'tisthe work of that villainous locksmith. I wish I had hanged him at thesame time, and then--"

"Well, what then?"

"It's too late, now, " said Sir George, bitterly. "If they do condemnme I shall claim the benefit of clergy. I know some of the prayers, and if I can only find the right page I shall get on well enough. Theywill only fine me, though, at worst. "

"But you have enemies at Court, remember. "

"Well, let them do their worst. I shall not disgrace myself whenthe time comes, and in the meantime I will address myself to LordBurleigh; he is all-powerful now. "

"And if he fail us, " added Sir Thomas, "I will take thee to SirNicholas Bacon. "

"The Lord Keeper?"

"Yes, why not?"

"He is a hard man. "

"He is honest, and will take no bribe, if that is what you mean, SirGeorge; but if there is a flaw in the proceedings he will point itout for us, and that will be better than naught. We shall have thesatisfaction of knowing that everything was properly done, at least. "

"We will try my Lord Burleigh first, " sighed the knight. 

"Sir Nicholas might intercede for thee with the Queen, " Stanley wenton. "He owes me some service, and is not ungrateful. "

"Hush! there is someone coming, " interposed the baron. "Let us say nomore at present. "

It was the maid bringing in the dinner; and, folding up the paper, SirGeorge carefully deposited it within his breast pocket, and relapsedinto a moody silence as they began and continued the meal. 

Meanwhile, outside the inn a very different scene was being enacted. 

No sooner had Sir Thomas Stanley entered the house than the ostler, having quickly stabled the horses, emerged into the yard again, andputting his fingers into his mouth he blew a soft peculiar whistlingnote, and reared himself up beside the wall to await the answer. 

It was not long in coming, for almost directly the door of thestable loft above him opened, and the head of the locksmith of Haddoncautiously peeped out. 

"Is all clear?" he inquired. 

"Yes, they have both gone in to dine. I didn't know you were there. Iwill come up and join you. "

In another minute the ostler stood beside the once more disguisedEdmund Wynne, and the two, secure from intrusion, began to conversewith unrestrained freedom. 

"Well, are they the right ones?" he asked, as he fastened thetrap-door down. 

"Yes, " replied Edmund; "what did Sir Thomas say to you; I could hearhim speaking?"

"Who's Sir Thomas?"

"Sir Thomas Stanley, of course. "

"Oh! He didn't mention the affair at all. "

"H'm! Did he say aught about me?"

"How should I know even if he had?" returned the ostler, "for I don'tknow your name yet. He did not mention anybody, only to say how thatthe old man, the baron would think well of me when parting time cameif I took good care of his horse. "

"Call me James, " quickly replied Edmund. 

"Very well, " returned the other, "it shall be so; but I don't believeyour name is James, nor do I think you are a broken-down wool merchanteither; but so long as you pay me what we have bargained for, I don'tcare a straw what you are or what you call yourself. "

"Just so, that will do exactly, " Edmund promptly replied. "That isjust what I require. "

"I'll call you James, then, and if anybody asks about you I don't knowaught of any such person. "

"Exactly; yes. "

"And I will get to know as much as I can from the maids, and will keepyou well informed of the movements of your friends. Their trial comesoff, you say, to-morrow?"

"I think it does. "

"They will not go far to-day, then?"

"I cannot say, but they will be well watched. What accommodation haveyou here for half-a-dozen stalwart fellows?"

"Plenty in the inn. "

"I don't need telling that: but here---in the yard. I am expectingsome guests for the night. "

"Let me see. It means money. "

"Of course it does. "

"And I shall run great risks. "

"You will be well repaid, though, " said Edmund, "and they might aswell be here, I trow, as elsewhere; only see that they don't have toomuch drink, and be careful that they are not seen lounging togetherabout in the yard. "

"Trust me, " laughed the ostler, "I shall manage that easily enough. I shall bolt the doors and fasten them in, and nothing except a ratcould get out then. "

"Nay, you misunderstand me. They are not prisoners, but men who havebeen hired for the journey. "

"I see now; ah, I see, " returned his companion in the most unconcernedmanner possible. "In that case they only want a little watching. "

"And, mayhap, a little restraining, yes. Here is a shilling for someale, which they will be expecting. You will meet them for me, and takecharge of them?"

"Very well, James, so be it; where shall I meet though? It would neverdo for them to hang about here that's very certain, for our landlordwould have his eyes upon them in a minute. He is awfully sharp ontramps and beggars and such. "

"No, certainly not, " agreed Edmund; "meet them at the Temple Gates atsix. "

"It shall be done; and in the meanwhile you will have a first-rateview of the entertainment from here. "

"What entertainment?"

"The players are here to-day. See, there is the stage and everything. 'Tis the Earl of Leicester's company, too, " and pushing the door stillfarther open, he pointed out to Edmund Wynne's astonished eyes oneof the rudely extemporised platforms which passed in those days forstages. 

Those who have witnessed the splendid scenic triumphs which have beenachieved by managers of late years would be astonished indeed werethey confronted by one of the theatres of the earliest dramatic times. Nothing could present a much greater contrast than the elaboratedrapery and the ingenious trap-doors, side wings, and numerous othermechanical contrivances which are now a necessary complement of themodern stage, and the superlative simplicity which characterised thetheatres of three hundred years ago. 

Theatres, indeed, there were none, and the troupes of players wanderedabout from city to town, and from village to hamlet, giving theirperformances in open-air; or, if they were fortunate, in thecourtyards of inns. 

It was a scene such as this that the two men gazed upon. 

A slight wooden shed afforded protection to the actors from theburning rays of the sun or the more uncomfortable showers of rain. Thestage, which was a movable wooden platform, was supported at a littledistance from the ground by a number of empty boxes--which a tornpiece of faded tapestry vainly endeavoured to hide from view. A smallgallery ran along the wall at the rear of the stage, which was readyto do duty as the wall of a castle, a fort, a mountain, an upper room, or a window, or anything else, just as the necessity might be; whilea flag, which floated in the breeze from the summit of a stunted pole, announced to the general public that the play was about to commence. 

Edmund Wynne had never witnessed such an elaborate display before, and for a time he watched in silent wonder as the people congregatedbelow. 

"There will be a goodly company to-day, my lord, " exclaimed theostler, as he drew his head in after a prolonged look round the yard. "'Twill be a notable day, will this. "

"I tell you I am not a lord, " angrily interrupted Edmund Wynne. "Ionly wish I were. "

"So do I, James, with all my heart, but look here; here is a properlord for you, a great lord, too. See, do you know him?"

"No, where?" he quickly replied. 

"Do you see that little platform there?"

"With a lamp hanging from the roof?"

"No, that's the moon for the players. They will light it soon, andwe shall know that it is night then, and folks can't see each otherwithout the moon. Look there;" and he pointed to where two or threegaily-bedecked ladies and some equally gaily-attired gallants wereconversing together in a part of the courtyard which was separatedfrom the rest by a rope which stretched from end to end. 

"Well, I see them, " he said. "Who might they be, prithee?"

"They might be Pope Joan and the cardinals, but they are not. "

"Then who are they?"

"That thin man, with the big buckles on his shoes, is Sir HenrySidney. "

"Never!" ejaculated Edmund, "he is too gray haired. "

"Even so, James. He is the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and thatlight-haired boy beside him is little Philip. He is the pet of theCourt already, but heigho! whom have we here? Why, it is, yes--it isthe Lord High Treasurer himself!"

"So it is, " murmured Edmund, as he carefully retreated well into theshade. "This door won't attract attention, eh?"

"No, thank goodness, for I can't very well get out now. You see, 'tisonly a loft door, and it is as often open as shut. They will think Ihave been pitching some hay in. "

Nevertheless, Edmund was by no means satisfied. There was only thedistance now of a few yards which separated him from his persecutor, and he feared, in spite of his disguise, lest he should be discovered. He upbraided himself a thousand times for his foolhardiness inexposing himself to the perils which he knew beforehand would besethim in the capital; and in the extremity of his fear he absolutelyshook with terror. Fortunately, however, for him, his companion wastoo engrossed in watching the new arrivals, as they rapidly flockedin, to notice his agitation, and for some time he was left to his ownuncomfortable reflections. In vain he wished himself safe within thewalls of Nottingham Castle. Even Haddon would have been preferable, but even that sorry refuge was denied him too. However much he wishedit, he could not break away from the fact that he was at London, almost within arm's length of his persecutor, and he already began tolook upon himself as lost. 

CHAPTER X. 

IN DIRE STRAITS. 

 And if the worst had fall'n which could befall, He stood, a stranger in this breathing world, An erring spirit from another hurled; A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped By choice the perils he by chance escaped; But 'scaped in vain. 

Edmund Wynne was rudely awakened from the train of thought into whichhe had fallen by the rough hand of the ostler, which alighted upon hisshoulders with a smack which was re-echoed in the farthest corner ofthe yard. 

"Now, James, " said his companion, whose ready familiarity was becomingexceedingly distasteful, "they are about to begin, see!"

The courtyard was, in fact, already more than comfortably filled. Those of the audience who formed the pit squatted unceremoniously downin groups upon the ground, and having brought with them a plentifulsupply of fruit and provisions, they were already busily engaged indiscussing them; whilst the more select company, which paid a higherprice and represented the modern gallery, occupied the reserved parton the other side of the rope, and was amusing itself in a generalway, by looking down with supercilious contempt upon the common folkbelow. 

Edmund stretched himself slightly forward, and peering out of thedarkness of his retreat, was just in time to witness the appearanceof the musicians, who, after making their bow to the audience, passedalong the stage and made their exit through a doorway at the otherend. A profound silence fell upon the company, and as the music ofthe violins floated gently on the breeze, the players made theirappearance on the stage. 

"What grotesque figures, " he exclaimed, as an involuntary smile stoleacross his face; "why, they are covered with ivy leaves. "

"See how Lord Burleigh cheers, " interrupted the delighted ostler, asthe play commenced, "and Sir Henry, too; see! Hang him, that's oldBoniface rooting about; what can he want, I wonder? I believe he islooking for me. "

"Who is Boniface?" meekly asked Edmund. 

"The landlord, of course; and your friends are with him, too, " was thecurt reply. 

Edmund shrank back still further into the shadow of the room. "Itwould never do for them to see me here, " he explained; "it would upsetall our plans. You must screen me somehow, won't you?"

"Take care of yourself, sir, " returned the ostler as he snatched upthe pitchfork and began to toss the hay about. "Take care of yourself, sir, for he's coming up here, upon my faith he is. Here's luck!" andthe hay flew about in all directions. 

No second bidding was required. Edmund scrambled over the heaps of hayand straw which lay upon the floor and never slackened his haste untilhe found himself hidden from view behind the stack in the further-mostcorner of the loft. Barely had he succeeded in ensconcing himselfthere, when footsteps were heard ascending the ladder, and a momentlater a sharp knocking at the door announced to the only too consciousconspirators that the landlord was waiting to enter. 

"Halloa, " shouted the ostler, as he stamped upon the floor with hisfork, to convey the impression that he was busily engaged, at work. "You can't get in here, I've got my work to do. "

Edmund was astonished at the cool impudence of his friend, and helifted his head to accord him a nod of approval, but a bundle of strawwhich the ostler purposely tossed at him from the other side of theroom made him quickly withdraw his cranium again into the shelter. 

"Let me in, I say, " shouted a voice from below. "You knave, let me in, I tell you. "

The ostler had played his little game, and, having sheltered hiscompanion, he now anxiously awaited the result. Glancing round tosee that Edmund was completely buried from sight, he dropped upon hisknees, and moving the catch on one side he slowly raised the door. 

"You knave! you villain!" exclaimed his irate master, as he steppedinto the room. "Wasting your time in looking at puppet-shows. How dareyou, sir; how dare you? Get you gone, sirrah!" and he gave him a kickwhich considerably accelerated the speed with which he disappearedbelow. 

Having thus satisfactorily vented his displeasure, his brow relaxedand he turned to the baron and Sir Thomas and conducted them to a seatso lately vacated by the guilty pair, with an urbanity which lookedpositively impossible to ruffle. 

"You see, my lord, there is a seat ready provided, " he exclaimed, ashe pointed to the bale of hay which stood beside the wall. "Perhapsyour lordships will be pleased to seat yourself on that? I'll warrantme 'tis clean enough, for I espied the rogue sitting on it. "

Sir George Vernon, nothing loth, accepted the proffered seat. 

"I will reach another bundle down for you, " continued the loquaciousinnkeeper, turning to the younger knight. "I will get you one of aconvenient size; most of them are far too big to be comfortable, I fear, but I have them in all shapes and sizes; you shall be madecomfortable in a trice, my lord. "

He cast his eyes about in search of the bundle "of convenient size, "and his choice fell upon the one which covered the gap where EdmundWynne lay hidden. Having once selected this he proceeded straightwayto climb over the impeding bundles to reach it from the corner wherethe ostler had tossed it just before. 

This, however, proved no slight task. He was burly and heavy, whilethe bundles were frail and loosely stacked and failed to yield to hisfeet that amount of support which, of all men, the stouter ones aresupposed most to require. This being so, it was not surprising to findthat ere he reached it he stumbled and fell several times, until atlast Sir Thomas took pity upon him and told him to desist. 

"I would stand, my good man, " he said, "rather than thou should'stbreak thy neck, or I might lay upon some of this soft straw for thenonce. "

"A prison bed, " chimed in Sir George. "Well, some folks like one thingand some another, there's no accounting for tastes. "

The landlord scouted the proposal at once. He felt that somehow he wason his mettle, and it was incumbent upon him to vindicate the honourof his house. "Had the kind nobleman been possessed of a betteracquaintance with him, " he said, "he would have known that it was notin his nature to be overcome by trifles. Things, thank goodness, weremanaged better than that at the Cock hostelry, " and to support hisstatement he wiped away the perspiration from his brow, and made afurther attempt to reach it down. 

Edmund's feelings during these critical moments would be easier toimagine than describe. Every moment he expected that the bundle wouldbe lifted off, and he anticipated the mortification of being draggedout and being brought face to face with the man whom he now mostdreaded. As the other advanced and the unstable walls of his shelterquivered until they threatened to fall upon him, he crouched downfurther and further into the corner, preferring rather to be buriedunder the solid squares of hay than to be discovered in such aposition. Sir Thomas' words inspired him with a ray of hope, but hisexpectations were dashed as suddenly as they had arisen by the wordsof the baron and the action of the busy landlord, who, all unconsciousof the torture he was inflicting, struggled valiantly on towards hisquarry. 

At last his perseverance was rewarded, and he found himself able tograsp the object of his toil; but Edmund as he felt the protectingroof of hay departing, snatched at the withes which bound it round, and dragged it down with all his might. 

In vain did the furious landlord pull and tug. Try as he would, itwould not move an inch, and he was about to give it up in disgust andoffer some reason for his lack of success, when Stanley again came tohis aid. 

"Stand aside, man; thou art too old for such a task, and too fat, too, perchance. Let me get it out. Odd's fish, my good fellow, but there'sbeen much to do about a little thing. Here it is, see. "

Edmund had, for the moment relaxed his hold, and it was at preciselythat same moment that Sir Thomas Staley took hold of the top of thebundle to pull it up. There was but one chance left, and although itpromised a little hope of success, he deemed his position desperateenough to warrant him in attempting it. He decided to leap outsimultaneously with the withdrawal of the bundle, and, trusting to theconfusion his unexpected appearance would create, to escape throughthe trap-door, and race away for his life. 

However, when he saw the sole protection which had hidden him fromhis enemies begin to move away his courage failed him, and he had notsufficient boldness to carry out the plan he had so neatly arranged. Instinctively he threw his arms up to clutch the rope again, butit was too late, it had already passed beyond his reach; there wasnothing left to save him. Another moment and his hiding place wouldbe discovered, when----, Sir Thomas missed his footing, and with agesture of impatience he let the bundle fall again, and turned hisback upon it in disgust. 

It alighted heavily upon the luckless Edmund's shoulders, and itstruck him with so much force that almost before he was aware ofit, he found himself most uncomfortably doubled up, and tight pinnedbeneath its weight upon the floor. He could neither free himself norease his position without attracting attention, for his arms weretightly wedged underneath him, while his legs had found a restingplace between two lots of hay, at a height somewhat above the levelof his head. One thing, and one alone, was at his command. He couldat least, he thought, remain quietly there, an unwilling eavesdropper, until his persecutors had gone. This he resolved to do; meanwhilehe could only submit to the conditions which a series of unfortunateincidents had brought upon him, and listen to the conversation inthe hope that some of it, at least, might at some time or other proveprofitable to him in the accomplishment of the object he had in view. 

"How long will they be, mine host?" inquired Sir George, to whom thecircumlocution of the stage proved uninteresting indeed. 

"About two hours, my lord, " suavely replied that individual, as hegazed proudly at the brilliant company assembled in the yard below, wondering the while how much they would expend at the inn when theplay was over. 

"Two hours!" Edmund groaned inwardly, but the groan was none the lesssincere because it was inaudible. 

"Two hours!" exclaimed the astonished baron, "then I'm off. "

Hope again revived within the heart of the prisoner. 

"Nay, stop, Sir George, " interrupted the younger knight; "you cannotsee a play like this at any time you choose. Stay awhile and bid mecompany, and forget your troubles in a stoup of ale. "

"Aye, I have the best in the town, " added the host; "there is nothinglike it in all London. "

This was quite a new idea, and Sir George scratched his head, as ifby so doing he might facilitate his judgment, and then he did what somany other troubled ones have done, both before his time and since, he sought to drown his troubles by gorging himself with his favouriteliquor. 

"Ha! well, " he muttered, "the ale is good, as London ale goes, I trow, but----"

"It is indeed, " added the tavern-keeper promptly. "There's nonebetter, though I say it. "

"But I think I will have cider, " continued the baron, not heeding theinterruption. 

"I will fetch it myself, " exclaimed the proprietor of the Cock; "andsure I am, 'twill be the best that ever you have tasted. "

"Nay, hold, " interrupted Sir George, "I will go with thee. I willtrust none to spice my drink except it be Lady Maude, or Dorothy. Iwill go with thee and spice it myself. "

"And I will have some simple sack, " said Sir Thomas. 

Sir George Vernon and the landlord descended the ladder, and threadedtheir way through the crowd into the tavern, while Sir Thomas Stanley, left to his own devices, continued to lie quietly down upon his couchof straw, watching with intense interest the progress of the play. 

Edmund, meanwhile, hearing no one stirring, and not being in aposition to see, concluded that all three had descended together, andthat he was the sole occupant of the room. He waited for a moment ortwo, and then, as the silence confirmed him in his opinion, he beganto make strenuous efforts to free himself. There was no sign madein response to the noise he made in the attempt, and, without anyinterruption, he released himself from his uncomfortable position. 

Slowly and painfully he raised himself up, but as he reached the top, the thrill of triumph to which his new-born hopes of liberty had givenbirth, died away, and a sigh of dismay escaped him as he discoveredthat he was not alone. 

For a time he stood perfectly motionless, too terrified to advance, and too paralysed by fear to regain his hiding-place. Fortunately, however, for him, Sir Thomas Stanley's back was turned towards him, and so intently had he fixed his attention upon the scene which wasbeing acted on the stage before him, that he was in complete ignoranceof the events which were transpiring in his rear. Edmund wistfullycast a look at the ladder which protruded temptingly through thetrap-door, but the look more than satisfied him that he could nothope to gain it without attracting the attention of his most unwelcomecompanion. 

There was only one idea which presented itself to the unlucky man'smind which promised any fair successes, and that left no alternative. He must put Sir Thomas out of the way!

However repugnant this plan might be, and Edmund felt all itshideousness, he felt every moment more and more convinced that itwas the only safe way. He had suffered too much already to venturewillingly back into the torture-chamber from which he had justescaped, even if he could safely have regained its shelter--in itselfno mean feat; and at the bare idea of spending two more hours of likeagony he trembled. He resolved that rather than he would be drivento that uncertain refuge again, Sir Thomas should pay the penalty ofdeath. 

At this stage of his reflections he was rudely stopped, for the youngknight, as if conscious of some impending danger, withdrew his headinto the room and rolled over upon his back, leaving Edmund so littletime in which to screen himself from view, that in attempting tosecure a cover he toppled right over and fell back upon a thinscattering of straw. 

Sir Thomas stopped the yawn with which he was indulging himself, andgot upon his feet, surprised in no small degree to find that no onehad entered the room. He went to the ladder to satisfy himself, butmeeting with a like measure of ill-success there, he came away in adiscontented mood; not perceiving Edmund, who lay, holding his breath, behind a heap of hay. 

"I thought it was my sack coming, " he muttered; "but it was only thoseconfounded rats. What a time they are gone, to be sure, " and as a lastresource he sat himself down upon Sir George's seat and watched theplay afresh. 

Edmund during all this time was slowly making up his wavering mind. The memory of Dame Durden was still fresh within him, and it was infulfilment of his scheme of revenge for that that he had united withSir Ronald Bury to bring the baron to book for his misdeeds, and wasnow in London. Why should he not wreak his vengeance upon Sir ThomasStanley, and then at once accomplish the work on which his heart wasset? In the intensity of his passion he could find no satisfactoryanswer to the question. There were powerful reasons both for andagainst such a plan. Sir Thomas was seriously jeopardising his presentsafety; but would his death at all affect the baron? Margaret wouldfeel it, mayhap, and so might Sir George to some extent, but he wasfully aware that Sir Ronald's aim would be by no means compassed bysuch a termination; nor was he at all certain his own desire would beaccomplished even then. The danger of his present position, however, was too apparent to be lightly put aside, and it proved too much forhim. Were the others to return now his ruin would be assured; andrealising this, he cautiously raised his head, and finding the youngnobleman again deeply interested in the progress of the scene beforehim, he quickly drew out his knife and crept silently on towards hisunsuspicious prey. 

CHAPTER XI. 

AN UNFORTUNATE DENOUEMENT. 

 But In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley. 

 BURNS. 

As Edmund drew nearer to Sir Thomas Stanley his heart began to failhim, and when at last he was sufficiently near the knight to havecarried out his design, his courage oozed out at his finger ends andhe felt powerless to strike. 

Finally he relinquished the attempt altogether, and a new ideaflashing upon him, he tossed the knife into the furthest corner of theroom, and rising to his feet, he tapped the still unconscious noblemanupon the shoulder, trusting that his careful disguise would preservehim from being recognised by Sir Thomas at least, for circumstancesat Haddon had brought them into connection with each other but a fewtimes at most. 

"Come at last, eh! and time, too, " exclaimed the young knight, ashe listlessly held out his hand for his potion of sack. "What, notbrought it yet?" he added, as he saw the other's empty hands; "I havebeen kept waiting for it more than a quarter of an hour. "

"Will you have it cool or spiced, my lord?" meekly asked Edmund, following up the idea thus thrown out. "I have but just received theorder for it. "

"Spiced, indeed!" replied the knight contemptuously; "not I, let mehave it fresh from the cellar, and that quickly. No, here, stay, " headded by the way of afterthought, "where is Sir George?"

"Sir George! Is that the oldish gentleman with the master?"

"That is Sir George Vernon, yes. "

"He is lying down in the parlour, " was the ready reply. 

"Humph, that's queer, poring over that confounded document again, I'llwarrant me. I will go back with you, " returned Sir Thomas. 

"I will bring it to you in half a minute, " gasped Edmund. 

"Nay, " returned the other, "I will accompany thee. Ha! here he is, coming up again. He's crossing the yard now, and Sir Nicholas Bacon iswith him, I perceive. "

Edmund had played his last card, and the game was lost. Fortune hadforsaken him at every turn; not one of his efforts had met with anysuccess, and after all his endeavours he found himself as securelycaught as the rat which was even then writhing within a few inches ofhis feet, in its last vain endeavour to free itself from the trap inwhich it was held. 

For a moment or two he stood irresolute, but then, quickly gaininga mastery over the feeling of despair which had at first stolen overhim, he made for the ladder, only to find, as he put his foot on thetopmost step, that Sir George had set his foot upon the one at thebottom. 

There was no help for it. He could neither advance nor retreat, so hestood at the top, carefully selecting the darker side, to await thecourse of events which could bring him no good fortune, but only evilin a greater or lesser degree. The completeness of his disguise, whichhad so completely deceived Sir Thomas, encouraged him to hope, forthe moment, that he might also pass unrecognised even before the eagleeyes of the King of the Peak, and he solaced himself by trusting thatif he were discovered the landlord might dismiss him in as summary amanner as he had done the ostler before him. 

As Sir George passed him by, deep in conversation with Sir NicholasBacon, Edmund's hopes were considerably augmented, but the sameill-luck which had followed him heretofore did not desert him now. His hopes were dashed as soon as they had arisen, for the eye of theworthy Boniface was fixed upon him ere that person had fully enteredthe room. 

Had he been attired in a manner more befitting his station, Edmundwould undoubtedly have received a more befitting reception; butclothed as he was in shabby knee-breeches, loosely tied at the knees, a coat which was out at the elbows, a hat minus a portion of its brim, and with a dilapidated ruffle round his neck, which had been in itsprime years ago, he presented a striking similarity in appearanceto the ordinary marauding beggar of the period, such as were then soexceedingly common, and for one of whom, indeed, the landlord took himto be. 

As soon as this worthy had ascended, Edmund coolly made for theladder, but he was motioned back by a sweep of the arm, as thelandlord loosely fastened down the door. 

"Who might you be, pray?" he asked, turning to the terror-strickencaptive; "and what are you doing here, eh?"

At this sally Sir Thomas Stanley, who had just been exchangingcompliments with the Lord Keeper, turned round. 

"Who might he be, " he laughed, repeating the words he had justoverheard; "well, by my troth, Sir George, he does not remember hisown servant, even the one he sent about my sack. You have been priminghim with his own ale and this is the result. 

"Not a drop, " interrupted the baron. 

"What do you say?" gasped out the astonished innkeeper. "This rascallyknave a servant of mine! Pooh, does he look like it, I ask you? Youimpudent jackanapes, " he pursued, as he clutched the unfortunateEdmund by the collar. "What are you here for, eh? What are you herefor? Speak. "

So far was Edmund from complying with this command that he remainedabsolutely silent. He dare not open his mouth for fear that Sir Georgewould recognise his voice. 

"Prowling about for as much as he can lay hold of, I'll warrant me, "continued his captor, addressing Sir Thomas Stanley, who had advancedtowards them. "How long has he been here, my lord?"

"Nay, I know not, " said Sir Thomas. "I saw him but just before youcame up. "

"Then you may satisfy yourself that he had watched us out, " repliedthe other sharply, "and was surprised enough to find anyone left uphere. "

"Like enough, " assented the baron. 

"He was pretty smart with his tricks, then, " said Sir Thomas. "How washe to know I wanted any sack, I should like to know?"

The question was unanswerable, and no one attempted to reply. 

"How did you know that, eh?" asked the proprietor, emphasising thequestion by a series of hearty shakings. 

Still there was no answer; Edmund would not speak. 

"Did you see him enter?" asked Sir Nicholas. 

"I did not know he was in the room until he tapped me on the shoulder. I was watching the play. "

"These rogues are wonderfully sharp, " muttered Sir George. 

"Then probably he was in the room all the time, " suggested the LordKeeper. 

"What did the rascal say to you, my lord?" went on the tavern keeper. 

"He asked me whether I would have my sack spiced or no. "

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Sir George; "that was cool enough, at any rate. I think we ought to let the knave free this time for his wit. "

"And let him prey on somebody else?" added Sir Nicholas. 

"Bad policy, Sir George, bad policy. He might try his hand on you nexttime. "

"I wonder how much property of mine he has taken already?" continuedthe host. "I will have him thoroughly searched. I know the rascal wellenough, he's been here before now many a time. There's a whole lot ofthem prowling around the neighbourhood; a regular gang. I'll make anexample of this one, I will. You might as well give me what you havetaken, " he added, turning to his captive, "and save me the labour oftaking it from you. "

"I have nothing of yours, " replied Edmund, in a strangely foreignvoice. 

"Not been through the house yet, maybe, eh!"

"No. "

"Humph, I don't believe you. Here, Hugh, " he cried, hearing the ostlermoving about below, "come up here. "

Edmund's quondam friend and fellow conspirator came up in answerto the summons in no very enviable frame of mind, anticipating verycorrectly what was about to take place, and debating within himselfwhat course of action to pursue. He quickly decided, however, thatinasmuch as he had not yet possessed himself of the money due tohim from the captive, that he would screen him as far as he wasable--compatibly with his own safety. 

"What's this fellow doing here?" demanded his master, as soon as Hughstepped into the room. 

"Can't say, sir, " replied Hugh, gazing at Edmund with well-simulatedsurprise, "maybe he's in drink. "

"A likely story, that. Do drunken folk climb up ladders, eh?"

"Not always, sir. "

"How long has he been up here, now?"

"Never seen him afore, sir, " returned the unabashed ostler, with anair of perfect candour. 

"You will be getting into serious trouble some day if you don't becareful to speak the truth, " exclaimed his master, "so I warn you, sir. Now, out with it; he was here when you went down. "

"I had not seen him then, by the blessed Virgin I had not. I havenever clap't eyes on the knave before!"

"Now, mind, I warn you, so be careful. "

"I had only just got up, master; upon my word I had. I had notsufficient time to see anybody before you came and sent me down, "and at the remembrance of that event he stepped back a pace or two inorder that his previous experience might not be repeated. 

"You good-for-nothing rascal you!" broke out the landlord. "I stoodand watched you myself, you were looking at the play. Get you gone, you idle vagabond, " he added, in high dudgeon, "get you gone, andbring me up some stout cord. "

Glad to escape, Hugh quickly made his exit, having come off far moreeasily than at one time he feared. He reappeared in a short time, butwith empty hands. 

"Well, where's the cord?" angrily enquired his master. 

"An it please you, sir, " he replied, with a sly wink at Edmund, "Icannot find one strong enough to bear him. "

"You can't hang him yet; let him have a proper trial. There has beennaught proved against him as yet, " eagerly interrupted the baron, uponwhom the lesson of his own trouble had not been lost. 

"He shall have a proper trial, my lord, " exclaimed the landlord, "andto-morrow we shall have him in the pillory. The proprietor of the CockTavern is no hangman; I only wanted to bind him. Fetch me a piece ofcord, you knave, and be quick, or I'll lay it about your back when itdoes come. Nay, you don't do that, " he added, turning to Edmund, whowas struggling to free himself; "not yet, my fine fellow. I have notdone with thee yet, " and by Sir Nicholas' timely help the prisoner waslaid upon his back and then firmly secured with the cords which theostler brought up a minute later. 

Leaving Edmund to bemoan his fate to himself, the party drew nighto the window to witness the play afresh. They were just in time towitness the advent of another "silent scene. "

"Let me explain it to you, " proffered the once more equable Boniface. "I know all about these things, they oft-times visit us here. I knowevery bit of this play as well as I know my creed. "

"Happen you may not be very familiar with the creed, though, " laughedSir Thomas. 

"Don't I know it, though?" he replied. "Sir Nicholas, if I might bepardoned for mentioning it, knows full well that every citizen ofLondon knows the creed by heart. "

"Yes, " assented the Lord Keeper, "everyone is compelled to attend somechurch at least once a Sabbath. "

"Or else they are smartly fined for staying away, as I was, " ruefullyadded the landlord. "Yes, my lords, I know my creed full well. "

"Well, what's that fellow drinking now?" asked Sir George. 

"He's fainting, poor fellow, " replied Sir Thomas. 

"Fainting, " laughed the host, "fainting! not a bit of it. He isdrinking some of my best Malmesey wine, that's what he is doing; onlyyou must think he is taking poison. He is Gorboduc, the king. "

"Well?"

"Oh, I forgot, you know naught of him as yet. Well, he, a king ofBritain years ago, has just told everybody that the kingdom is tobe divided between his two sons, Ferrex and Porrex. Some of hiscouncillors advised 'Yes, ' and some said 'No, ' but the old king wasdecided upon having his own way, and the land had just been dividedbetween them. "

"Get on, " said the baron impatiently, as the other paused and finallycame to a dead stop. "They are beginning to act again. "

"And one of the old councillors strongly advised the king to keep hisrealm entire, " continued the man, "I remember his very words. He toldthe king how bad any division would be, not only for himself, but alsofor his sons. He says:--

 But worst of all for this our native land. Within one land one single rule is best, Divided reigns do make divided hearts, But peace preserves the country and the prince. "

"As correct as the creed itself, " whispered Sir Nicholas. 

"It may be so, " exclaimed the young knight, "but we will let thepoetry go. For my part I can't understand that new-fashioned poetry, and I don't want to either. I only like it when it rhymes, likeChaucer. "

"That all means, " resumed the landlord, "that Queen Mary of Scotlandhad far better leave our gracious Queen Elizabeth (God bless her)to herself. We don't want Roman Catholic princesses here again, SirNicholas. "

"No, indeed not. Mary was enough. "

Sir George Vernon frowned heavily. He was too sincere a Papist himselfto relish such remarks, but he dared not show his displeasure in theface of the Queen's minister. 

"And I don't care for poetry anyhow, " he gruffly said, "so finishwithout any more of it if you can. "

"I will then. You saw those two mugs offered to the king?"

"Both made of common horn, yes. "

"They both came from my bar. One was full of wine, but the other heldwater. "

"Then when my sack comes I would prefer it without the water, " SirThomas replied, amid a chorus of laughter. 

"You exercise your wit upon me, my lord, " replied the landlord withsome asperity, "but I have not the means wherewith to retort. I am aman of business, not a Court fool. " Here he paused, astonished at hisown trepidity, and also in fear lest his aristocratic customers shouldbe offended. As he stopped his virtuous indignation passed away, andwhen he resumed again it was in a tone at once apologetic and placid. 

"The water, " he continued, "was offered by the good councillors, butGorboduc took the poison, and now he has drunk it off, so----"

"Look at your prisoner, " interrupted Sir Nicholas, "or very soon youwill not have one to look after. "

Edmund had, in fact, been thrown down just over his knife, andvery soon finding this out he had, by dint of considerable trouble, succeeded in cutting the cord which bound his wrists, and was busilyengaged in freeing his legs by a similar process when he unfortunatelyattracted the attention of the Queen's Councillor. 

No time was lost in securing him afresh. In spite of his strenuousefforts he was quickly overpowered, and after all his labour he onlyfound himself more hopelessly a prisoner than he had been before. 

"Why, the fellow must be bewitched, " exclaimed Sir George, "I neversaw his like before. Take him away before he does us any injury. Takehim away, we don't want him here. "

"He is safe enough now, my lord. "

"Take him away, I say, " repeated the baron. "We want him here nolonger. Do you hear me, sirrah! Take him away I say, and lock himup in safety, " and amid the oft-continued reiteration of the baron'sorder, Edmund Wynne was carried below and consigned to the care ofthe ostler until such time as the gaol officials could be convenientlycommunicated with. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A CONFESSION OF LOVE. 

 It was my fortune, common to that age, To love a lady fair, of great degree, The which was born of noble parentage. And set in highest seat of dignity. 

 SPENSER. 

The sun was declining, after a gorgeous display of its fiery hues;gilding with a translucent light the grey walls of Haddon, and castingweird shadows on the closely-cropped bowling green, when two figuresemerged from the shades of the neighbouring wood and passed into themeadow which lies below the Hall. 

Sir George Vernon had not yet returned from London; indeed, nothingbut a note from Margaret's lover had given them any information aboutthe two travellers since they had departed, six days ago, and althoughnews of them was now considered overdue, yet, in those days of badroads and slow travelling, communications from distant places werenever, or seldom at best, rapidly transmitted, and, bearing this inmind, no concern was felt on that account. 

Haddon, usually so gay, wore for the time being a sombre aspect. SirGeorge was its life and soul, and now that he was away and exposed tothe machinations of enemies who were hungering and thirsting after ashare of his riches, a gloom settled down upon the place and envelopedit in an ill-befitting aspect of dreariness. Baits and hunting partieswere alike abandoned; no one felt in the humour to participate ingaieties, of whatever kind, so long as the baron was away; and theguests who had assembled to witness the tournament had, with fewexceptions, returned to their homes feeling deprived, in a largemeasure, of that succession of festivities and enjoyments to whichthey had looked forward with so much expectancy. 

Sir Henry was still confined to his room from the injuries which hehad received in his encounter with Manners; and Cousin Benedict, whohad stayed to take the baron's place during his enforced absence, hadfound his position so intolerably lonely that he at last took refugein such copious libations of wine that henceforward his interest incontemporary events entirely ceased. 

This air of desolation had infected Lady Vernon, too. Her temper, never of the mildest disposition, now became exceedingly irritable, and finding little consolation forthcoming from Sir Benedict, shevented her spleen with all those with whom she came into contact, andfinally shut herself up within her own room and added to the misery ofthe household by obstinately refusing to hold any intercourse with thefamily. 

Margaret and Dorothy were thus thrown much upon their own resources, and they managed to spend the time wearily enough at the tapestryframe until Manners and Crowleigh paid a visit to the Hall--ostensiblyto inquire after the health of the wounded knight. Their arrival, asmight be readily imagined, was cordially welcomed by the girls, and nothing beyond a first request was required to induce the twogentlemen to stay; and, so once again, Manners found himself, to hisheart's great contentment, housed under the same roof as the lady ofhis love. 

This time, however, he had come with the firm determination to bringmatters to a crisis. He felt that his passion for Dorothy could be nolonger controlled. Her bearing towards him had fired him with hope, but her position and her surpassing beauty had brought so many suitorsto worship at her shrine that he was driven to despair between theconflicting emotions of hope and fear. 

For a whole day he waited a favourable opportunity to carry out hispurpose, and in vain. The two sisters seemed to be inseparable in thistime of trouble, and try as he might he could not get the interviewfor which he so ardently longed. The fates were unpropitious, and oneafter another his artifices were defeated until at last he was obligedto fall back upon the assistance of his friend, and ask him, as a lastresource, to help him out of his difficulty. 

As the shades of evening crept silently on, and the cooler air beganto assert itself over the torrid atmosphere of the day, Sir EverardCrowleigh opened the campaign on behalf of his companion by suggestingthat a walk would not only be refreshing to the two maidens, but alsopositively beneficial. "I don't pretend to know much of the skillof the leech, " he added, "but I think that fresh country air is thefinest physic out for young ladies, both for health and beauty too. "

"And maybe 'tis good for gentlemen as well, " laughed Dorothy. 

"It is the true elixir of life, for which the alchemysts labour invain to find, " exclaimed Manners. "Sir Benedict knows leechcraft, letus take his opinion upon its merits. 

"Nay, " laughingly responded Margaret, "Cousin Benedict, I fear, is toomuch engaged in other affairs to attend to us just now. "

"Why, how?" asked Crowleigh in surprise, "surely no one would beungallant enough not to lend their services to two such fair maidens. Never! I cannot conceive it. "

"Margaret means, " interposed Dorothy, "that he has been taking toomuch wine again, and then he goes wandering about the cellars andpassages until he falls down and goes to sleep. Nobody takes anynotice of him now, though, we have all got too familiar with hisways. "

"Well, we will go, " decided the elder sister, "but which way--north, south, east, or west? Bakewell, Rowsley, or where? Let us determinequickly, for it will soon be dark. "

"We are at your service, " gallantly responded John Manners. "Any waywill suit us equally well. " Certainly, provided that the walk was longenough, the direction they should take was of little importance tohim. He had a more important matter on his mind. 

"Let it be Rowsley way, Margaret, " asked Dorothy. 

"Well, then, " she agreed, "we will say Rowsley, 'tis a pretty walk;but we might first see our venerable protector in safety, then nothingcould be nicer. Follow me, brave gentlemen, " said Margaret, andthe two girls led the way through the banqueting-room and down thestone-flagged passage into the capacious wine cellar below. 

Benedict was not there, but it was evident, from signs which couldnot be mistaken, that he had been there shortly before. All theneighbouring cellars were thoroughly explored, but to no purpose; hecould not be discovered, and, finding that he had just been seen inthe vicinity of the old archer's room, they turned their feet in thatdirection, only to find themselves once more baffled when they arrivedthere. 

"No, your ladyships, " replied the serving-maid, in answer to theirinquiry, "he has gone again just now; you will be sure to find him inthe kitchen, though. "

"'Tis as good as a badger hunt, " laughed Crowleigh, as they trailedinto the kitchen again, "but prithee, fair mistress, what shall wegain by discovering the august knight?"

"In truth I cannot tell, " replied Dorothy; "but, trust me, Margarethas some plan or other in her head. 

"Yes, " said Margaret, "but see him, here he is; the master of thehouse, our guardian, our protector; behold him where he lies, " and shepointed to where the too festive knight lay doubled uncomfortably upin the salting trough. 

"I expected about as much, " she went on, "and I want to cure him; whatshall we do?"

"Salt him, " slyly suggested Dorothy, "that is the usual way. "

"Fasten him down in the box for the night, " suggested Crowleigh. 

"We will, " she said; "here is the lid, we can easily fasten it down sothat he cannot undo it, and we will have a peep at him to see that heis not smothered when we come back. "

In accordance with this decision Sir Benedict was unconsciously made aprisoner, as securely as any culprit in Derby gaol, and leaving himin this position the merry quartette started off upon their eveningstroll. 

Disdaining the highway, they followed the beaten path which ledthrough the wood to Rowsley, Crowleigh doing his part to aid hisfriend by walking on with Margaret in front, and so deeply engaged herinterest by recounting some of his adventures in badger hunting thatshe entirely forgot her sister, who followed behind her in a moreleisurely fashion with Master Manners. 

In vain the anxious esquire sought to broach the topic which lay sonear to his heart; the words would not come, and beyond a few gallantand courtier-like remarks--to the like of which Dorothy had oftenlistened beforetimes with impatience--he could not succeed; and whenat last he began to give expression to his feelings, it was in a wildand almost incoherent manner. 

As for the maiden who lightly tripped by his side, although she worea sober, pensive look, yet she was filled with a silent joy, and thegreat fire of love which was burning in her breast she found difficultto control. With that quick and subtle faculty which belongs towomankind alone she had intuitively guessed his mission at the outset, and with perceptions rendered keener by the intensity of her passion, she was on the alert to detect his advances and respond to them witha due amount of proper maidenly reserve. Finding, however, that he wasslow to approach the subject, yet feeling sure of his intentions andfearing lest the opportunity should slip by, she sought to precipitatehis movements by a few, delicate hints. 

"Why, we are all alone, " she exclaimed, "Wherever can my sister be?Let us hasten on. "

"She is in safe hands, fair Dorothy, " he replied, "and you will not bemissed awhile. "

Dorothy noted with satisfaction that he had dropped the "Mistress"from before her name, and this, she argued, denoted that he wasawakening at last, and encouraged her to venture again with anotherremark. 

"Margaret is such a scold, " she teasingly said; "I fear we must reallyhasten forward. "

"Nay, we will not hurry, we should not catch her now were we to try. "

"Why not, prithee?"

"Because--because: well, do not let us try, " he responded. He hadfully meant to have declared his love to her then, but that "because"stuck in his throat and blocked up all the other words he would havesaid. The very intensity of his love hindered him from declaring hispassion. 

"What would Sir Thomas Stanley say if he knew Sir Everard were outcourting with Meg?" wickedly suggested Dorothy. "Would he not be in atowering rage?"

"There would be another tournament, maybe, " laughed Manners, notnoticing the tender tone in which his fair companion had addressedhim. 

"Poor De la Zouch will remember his attempt to provide amusement forus for some time yet, I fear, " she continued coquettishly. As herprevious efforts had led to nothing, she had started afresh in anothervein, mentally resolving that her companion was wretchedly slow inresponding to her advances. 

"I fear he will, " he replied; "but he is improving, I hear. SirBenedict seems to understand his case. "

"He is like to be scarred for life, though, " Dorothy returned. "PoorSir Henry. "

"You are sorry for him, " exclaimed Manners, who felt a little piquedat the tone of Dorothy's reply, as, indeed, she intended he should be. 

"Yes, " she said, "I am; very sorry. "

Manners bit his lip with annoyance, and made a foolish remark. 

"Ha, he was your lover, perchance?" he said. 

Dorothy flushed up hotly at the taunt. Manners saw it, and would havedone much to have recalled his hasty words, but they were gone. 

"Master Manners!" Doll exclaimed, turning quickly round upon him; "Ihave spurned him; I have told him what I think. Once and for ever haveI refused him, and he knows I shall not change. "

"Fair Dorothy, sweet Dorothy, " Manners penitently exclaimed, droppinghurriedly upon his knees; "you shall be my queen. Forgive me--orcondemn. I sue you for your pardon, nor will I rise until I havegained it. "

"I will visit you to-morrow, then, " she said, turning to go. "Farewell. "

Her voice was sweet again, and her brow was once more clear. 

"You have forgiven me?" he cried, rising up and following her. 

"What, sir knight?" she exclaimed, in feigned surprise, "risen, eh?Upon my word, you are a fickle cavalier. Well, I suppose I must extendmy clemency to you. At what price will you be willing to purchase myforgiveness?"

Manners was just going to tell her he would give himself and all hehad to her if she would take it, but a sudden bend in the path broughtthem face to face with Margaret and Crowleigh, and the words were leftunspoken. 

It needed no question to inform Sir Everard that his friend's missionwas not accomplished yet. He looked to see the sparkling eyes anda countenance beaming with delight, but was met by a face the verypicture of disappointment; and shrewdly seeing that their companywould be in no wise acceptable at such a juncture, he adroitly ledMargaret on, still an interested listener to his wonderful tales, andintimating that they were returning to Haddon, they passed the loversby. 

For a time Dorothy and Manners walked on in perfect silence, the onepreparing to pour out the story of his love, and the other waiting andexpecting the declaration. 

"We had better retrace our steps now, " exclaimed Dorothy at length. 

They turned round and began to wend their way again towards the Hall, in a silence that was positively painful to both. 

"You are dreaming, Master Manners, " she exclaimed, as they neared thenarrow bridge which spans the Wye just outside the gates of Haddon. 

"Come, sir, declare your thoughts; let me be your confessor, forI will shrive thee right easily, and the penance shall be pleasantenough, I assure thee. Now confess!"

"I was thinking of--of love, " he stammered out. 

"Love! then I forgive thee, " she exclaimed with a beating heart, "'tisa common sin. Proceed, my son. "

"I was thinking of a little poem. "

"Oh!" That was a disappointing continuation. 

"'Twas a verse of Sir Thomas Wyatt's. Shall I tell it thee?"

"'Hide nothing from me, ' as Father Philip says, " replied Doll, brightening up again, for she was well acquainted with the verse ofthat unfortunate nobleman, which was almost all on the subject oflove. She thought she knew the verse which he would tell her, nor wasshe mistaken. Almost everyone knew that verse, even if they knew noneother. 

The young esquire fixed his eyes upon her, and began--

 A face that should content me wondrous well. Should not be fair, but lovely to behold; Of lively look, all grief for to repel, With right good grace as would I that it should Speak, without words, such words as none can tell, Her tress also should be of crisped gold; With wit, and these, I might perchance be tried, And knit again with knot that should not slide. 

"Then I perceive you are difficult to please, my son, " she replied. 

"Listen, stay Dorothy, " he said, quickly, as she stepped upon thefootbridge, "surely that means you. Oh, Dorothy, let me speak. I musttell you. I cannot let you depart yet. I love you. I have loved youever since I saw you first. "

He paused, but as the maiden did not speak, he continued. 

"Ever since the hawking party I have loved you. Do you remember that?"

"I do, " she demurely replied. 

"Nay, stay, leave me not thus, " he cried, as Dorothy unconsciouslymoved. "You must stay, you must listen. Dorothy, I cannot flatter youlike some; I speak the truth. I cannot live without you make me happy. Will you be mine?"

"But, sir knight--"

"Nay, " he interrupted, "say it is so. I am no knight, I am but asimple esquire, but though you be the daughter of the rich King of thePeak--"

"Nay, do not talk like that, " she interrupted quickly. 

"Let me do something to show the vastness of my love, " he went on. "What shall it be? Bid me do aught, or go anywhere; command me whatyou will, but say you love me. "

"And if I do, what then?"

"What then?" he echoed; "I would live or die for you--for you alone. "

"I do love you, then, " she replied, with downcast eyes and blushingface. 

Manners stood up erect, and glanced straight into the honest eyes ofthe beautiful girl as she stood on the bridge beside him. 

"You do?" he exclaimed; "say it again. "

"I do love you. " she repeated; "and will be yours for ever if you loveme as you say. "

"What!" he cried, "you, the fair Dorothy Vernon, the Princess of thePeak, the fairest jewel in the land, you give yourself to me--JohnManners, a simple esquire? I can scarce believe my ears. "

"I will show you. John, " she replied; "my life shall prove it. I haveloved you dearly ever since that self-same hunt"; and permitting herlove-troth to be sealed by a kiss, she buried her fair face in hisbosom and quietly wept in the excess of her joy. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

FATHER PHILIP'S ACCIDENT. 

 And thou hast loved him! Faith, what next? It had been better far for thee That thou had'st ne'er been born, than this. Brood on thy folly, and return, But when thou hast repented on't. 

 A WOMAN'S WHIM. 

As the two lovers, happy in their newly-pledged love-troth, enteredthe gateway of the Hall they were encountered by the news that FatherPhilip had met with an accident. Margaret and Sir Everard Crowleighhad not yet returned, and messengers were even then, by thechamberlain's commands, preparing to go out to secure aid. 

"'Tis a sad mishap, my lady, " said that functionary, as Dorothyentered. "That stupid old horse of his threw him against a tree, andwe cannot find Sir Benedict anywhere; the poor father is bleedingto death. He's dying, my lady, dying; what will the baron do if hereturn?"

"Hush! Thomas, of course he will return. "

"May the blessed Virgin take pity on us, " pursued the wretched man, "there is an evil spirit o'er the place. Someone is working a spellagainst us. "

"Where is the father?" asked Manners abruptly. 

"He lies in the chaplain's room; I can hear him groaning now. Thesaints look down in----"

Dorothy passed on, heeding not the continued invocations which the oldman made to all the saints in the calendar, and led her lover into thelittle room in which the unfortunate priest lay. 

The portly form of Father Philip lay stretched at full length upon awooden bench, and the room resounded with his painful groans. As theyapproached nearer to him they could see the fearful injuries he hadreceived; and the continued reiteration of the sufferer that he wasabout to die needed no other confirmation than a glance at his paleface, upon which the mark of death was plainly written. 

Father Philip, despite his faults, was universally beloved in theneighbourhood--by the poor for the bounty he dispensed at the gatesfrom the well-stocked larder of the knight; by the rich because hewas by far the best tale-teller of the district, and the success of afeast at which he was present was at once assured; and by the childrengenerally, for the confections and little silver pence he bestowedupon them, along with his kind word and cheery smile, in a mostliberal manner. 

At Haddon he was a prime favourite with all alike. He had entered theservice of the Vernons soon after the monasteries were dissolved, inthe time of Henry VIII. , and had grown old in his office. Throughoutthe critical and changeful reigns of Edward and Mary, as well as theearly years of Elizabeth's time, he had, in spite of all the attemptsmade to oust him, retained his position as confessor to the family andpriest of the chapel at Haddon, and, as he had christened Margaret, hewas looking forward with pleasurable expectancy to the occasion whenhe would be called upon to marry her also. 

Leaving Dorothy standing on the threshold of the doorway, Mannersadvanced to the injured man's side, and endeavoured to sooth him byinstilling into his mind a ray of hope. 

"O, Dorothy, " gasped the priest, disregarding the words of hiswould-be comforter, "I am dying, dying like a dog. O, for some ofDame Durden's simples now. For the blessed Virgin's sake fetch SirBenedict. O, dear! O, dear!" and he sank back with a groan. 

Dorothy turned, and with a fast-beating heart hastened to deliver thecaptive knight, while her lover endeavoured to staunch the flow ofblood by binding the wound tightly up in strips of cloth. 

By dint of much shaking and shouting cousin Benedict was at lastroused from his drunken sleep, and also at last was made to understandsomewhat of the exigencies of the case for which his aid was needed. 

"I will come soon, " he exclaimed, in answer to Dorothy's entreaties. 

"You must come now!" she replied, in a peremptory tone, which admittedof no prevarication. 

"Where is the wine?" he asked, as he rubbed his eyes and glancedaround; "why, this is the kitchen. "

"Come along, Benedict; Father Philip is dying, I tell you. Do youunderstand?"

Benedict à Woode stood up as still as he was able, and rubbed off aquantity of the salt which tenaciously adhered to his garments, then, noticing for the first time that he was in the great salt trough, heexclaimed in a tone of great surprise, "What! have I been here?"

"You have, " she answered severely, "but why do you not come andsuccour Father Philip? He is bleeding to death, while you, who arestaying here, might help him. "

As the knight rapidly collected his scattered senses, he becamemore and more ashamed of himself; and now, clambering out of hisignominious confinement, with bowed head and tottering feet he humblyfollowed his fair companion across the yard. Not even the giganticvat, which was still steaming from a recent brew, the pungent odourof which could be plainly scented, induced him to alter his course; hemeekly entered the room at Dorothy's heels. 

Whatever effects of his recent indulgence remained with him before heentered the room, they were quickly dispelled as he beheld thepallid countenance of his friend, and falling down upon his knees, hescrutinised the injuries the venerable father had received. 

A brief examination satisfied Benedict that, unskilled as he was, thecase was entirely beyond his power, and he knew not what to do. Heunloosened the bandages which Manners had made, and let the alreadyover-bled man bleed still more; and then, bethinking himself ofsummoning superior aid, he hastily concocted a dose of simples, which the sufferer could with difficulty be prevailed upon to take, despatched a mounted messenger to Derby, and sat himself down at thefoot of the bench to await the course of events. 

The effect produced by the dose was evidently what Benedict hadwished, and for a long time the sufferer was far more quiet. 

"O, Benedict, " he feebly exclaimed, "my head, my head!"

"Well, it will be better soon. "

"Nay, I know I'm dying; 'twas a fatal fall, and I cannot shrivemyself. "

Benedict saw that his patient was getting excited, and he mixedanother draught, which the father absolutely refused to take. 

"Oh, dear, I'm dying, dying, " he gasped. 

"Tut, man! rubbish. There's life enough left yet in you. We shall beout together again in a day or two. "

"Send for another brother, " pursued the unfortunate man. "I am dying;my end has come, and I know it. "

"Tut, man!" returned the knight, "I tell you you will be better soon. "

"A witch told me I should die like this, " continued the fatherobstinately, "and the time has come. I am too old to survive it now. "

"Go to sleep, father, " interrupted Manners, "you ought not to talknow; you want rest. "

"Yes, sleep, " assented à Woode. 

"I cannot, I am dying, " he gasped; and he groaned in agony again andagain. 

"Father Philip, " interposed Dorothy, "you must rest yourself. MasterManners is a soldier and has seen many hurt like you, and even worse;you must do his bidding an you would get well again. "

"What in the name of faith does all this mean?" asked Margaret, as shestepped into the room. "What is all this stir and commotion about?"

"I am dying, Margaret, " repeated the confessor, as he gasped for verybreath. "I thought to marry thee, my daughter, but now it is deniedme. You will pray for the repose of the soul of Father Philip, willyou not?" he inquired, looking up into her face as she bent over him. 

"When you are dead, yes, " she replied, "but not until. "

"Don't talk to him, Mistress Margaret, " said Manners; "he will onlyinjure himself by talking in return. I have enjoined quietness, but hewill take no heed. He ought to refresh himself by quietness, and sleepif possible, does he not; is not that correct, Everard?"

"Aye, it is indeed, "

"I shall be dead soon, Margaret, and--"

"Go to sleep, man, or at least lie still, " growled à Woode. "What isthe use of all my care and simples if you won't do as I order you?"

"And you will ask the baron to forgive an old man's follies, Margaret?" slowly pursued the father, between the gasps, quiteheedless of the counsel given him to remain silent. 

"I'll stop this, " Sir Benedict broke in savagely, as he proceeded totie the bandages on afresh. "Father Philip, you shall be silent, ordie you must. That's better, " he exclaimed, as his patient fell backunconscious. "He will, perforce, be quiet now awhile, and we maysafely remove him to his room. "

"Is he badly hurt, think you?" asked Margaret. 

"I don't think he will ever get better again, " Benedict gravelyreplied; "he is old, and it is a terrible wound. "

"Neither do I think he will weather it, " added Crowleigh; "I have seenmen hurt like that before, fair Mistress Margaret, and we soldierssoon recognise the mark of death. "

Slowly and with great care the poor father was carried into the hall, and as soon as he was laid upon his bed, seeing that there wereno signs of returning consciousness, Margaret and Dorothy quietlyretired. 

"Meg, " exclaimed the younger sister, with glistening eyes, as they satin cheerless solitude before the blazing logs in their own room, "Ihave something to tell thee, and I shall mayhap want your aid ere Ihave done. "

She stopped short, to see if her sister had guessed her secret, but itwas apparently undiscovered, so she went on. 

"I don't expect Lady Maude will be very willing; she always opposesus, does she not?"

"Sometimes, " said Margaret drily. 

"He is not so rich as De la Zouch, " pursued Dorothy, "so I don't thinkshe will agree to it at first. "

"To what? What do you mean? Father Philip's accident has turned yourhead, I verily believe, " replied her sister, as a terrible suspicionof the truth flashed into her imagination. 

"Nay, Meg, dear, listen. I have plighted my troth to-night. "

Margaret jumped from her seat as if stung, and her face turned lividwith anger. 

"What!" she exclaimed, "you have dared to plight your troth to MasterManners?"

"To John Manners, yes. "

Her voice was quiet and her bearing firm, nor was she half so agitatedas her sister, a fact which Margaret was slow to understand. 

"Speak fair, Dorothy, " she said, as she tried to persuade herself thatshe had misunderstood her meaning. "None of your riddles for me. Youare joking, surely. "

"Nay, I am in earnest, Meg. Ask him yourself; he will tell you whetherI was joking an hour ago. De la Zouch knows I would perish ratherthan be his countess. I told him so myself. And oh! Meg, dear, I am sohappy now, for I love John Manners so very, very much. "

"'Tis a sad night's work for _you_", burst out Margaret. "What righthave you, prithee, to make arrangements such as these? You are to bebetrothed to a brother of Sir Thomas Stanley. Edward is coming fromthe Isle of Man within a month to arrange it all, and a nice affairhave you made it with your forwardness. "

"Edward Stanley?" echoed Doll, in blank dismay. 

"Yes, surely. "

"Never, " she replied, decisively; "I will have none of him, nor couldI if I would. I am betrothed already. "

"You foolish child, " returned Margaret. I must rate this MasterManners for his presumption. Sir Thomas will have talked the matterover with your father ere now, as they journeyed up to London. "

"It will be of no use even if he has. John Manners has my pledge, andI shall keep it with him, too. "

"Tut, child, this is idle talk. By now the matter is all arrangedfor you, and very thankful ought you to be. If Master Manners is agentleman----"

"He _is_ a gentleman. "

"He will think no more about you, then, after he knows the facts, "said Margaret sharply, and passing out of the room she left Dorothyalone to her tears, while she tried to discover the happy esquire togive him a piece of her mind. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

AN UNPLEASANT NIGHT. 

 But justice though her dome she doe prolong, Yet at the last she will her own cause right. 

 SPENSER. 

When the landlord of the Cock Tavern thoughtlessly gave his prisonerinto the custody of the ostler he put Edmund Wynne in the way of theonly piece of good fortune which fell to his share on that unluckyday. 

No sooner did the two conspirators find themselves alone than Edmundbegan to implore his companion to set him at liberty, offering largeprospective bribes for freedom; but quickly perceiving that his keeperwas inexorable, he turned his attention to the best possible provisionfor the safety of those who had embarked on the expedition along withhim. 

It was patent to both that for the meeting of Edmund's associatesto take place, as had been arranged just previously, would now onlyinvolve them all in one common ruin; and arrangements were accordinglymade for them to be warned of the danger their presence would incur. The conference, however, was prematurely ended by the advent ofthe minions of the law, who, for once in a way, were prompt in theexecution of their duty, and in a very short space of time Edmundfound himself securely lodged within the precincts of Fleet MarketGaol. 

Little ceremony was shown him at his new resting-place, for no soonerhad the outer doors of the prison closed upon him than he was rapidlydragged forward across the courtyard and thrust into a dimly-lighted, evil-smelling room, the very appearance of which, with itsstrongly-barred windows high up in the wall, and the massive studdeddoor which was closed and double locked upon him almost before he hadentered the room, struck a feeling of shrinking terror deeply intothe prisoner's heart. He sank disconsolately down upon the cold stonebench just beside the door, and placing his elbows upon his knees, hepropped his head up between his hands, and peering into the dimnessbitterly bewailed his fate. 

He was startled from the train of thought into which he hadunconsciously fallen by hearing a sound not far from him. He raisedhis head and rubbed his eyes, half expecting to be confronted by aspectral visitor; but not being able to distinguish anything in thedeep gloom to which his eyes were not yet accustomed, he dismissedthat theory, and ascribed the noise to the rats. 

"Rats, ugh!" he exclaimed, and he lowered his head down again, feelinga trifle less dejected because of the trivial interruption which hadfor the moment excited him, and changed his dismal channel into whichhis thoughts had flown. 

"Who says rats?" exclaimed a voice in tremulous tones, evidently fromthe corner of the room. 

Edmund's head was upraised in a moment. His hair stood on end, for, ashe hastily glanced around, his eye lighted upon a form enshrouded inwhite. He was convinced that he was at last confronted by one of theghostly fraternity, of whose existence he was a firm believer; andhastily springing from his seat, he retreated as far as he could inthe opposite direction. 

To his terror the figure rose up at the same time, and advancingtowards him, frantically waving its arms, and repeating the wordsEdmund had just uttered. He was in a frenzy of despair, and rushingto the door, as the spectre had come up to him, he had made anineffectual effort to open it, and was busily engaged in kicking itsstout timbers to attract the attention of the gaolers. 

All this took but a moment, but it was a terrible time to Edmund, andhe found himself, in spite of his efforts, completely nonplussed bythe unearthly foe beside him. 

"Rats, who says rats?" piped the figure again in its shrill, thinvoice. "Where are they?"

For answer Edmund turned round, and in his desperation lunged out withhis foot towards his persecutor. It struck something solid, and toEdmund's intense relief the spectre limped away with a howl of painjust as the key turned in the lock outside. 

A moment later the door swung slowly back upon its creaking hinges, admitting the gaoler, and, at the same time a flood of light, whichdisclosed to view the form of a haggard man writhing in pain upon thewooden bed, sparsely covered with straw, in the very corner of theroom. 

"Here's a pretty pickle, " quoth the new comer, as he stood upon thethreshold of the door. "Which of you made all the din? Halloa, whyPeter, " he added, as he stepped up to the side of the bed and gazedupon the emaciated form of an old and well-known inmate of the Hut, "what does all this portend?"

No sooner had he stepped into the room than Edmund, seeing the doorwayclear, bolted out on an ill-timed venture of escape. He rushedalong the passage, hotly pursued by his custodian, and ran withoutinterruption into the yard; but here, alas, he was at bay. It was notthe same yard through which he had entered so shortly before, and hecould find no way of exit. It was futile to attempt anything further, and, discovering this unwelcome fact, he passively yielded himself up, and was rewarded for so doing by receiving sundry cuffs and jerks fromhis captors, who carried him straightway before the governor. 

There are some people in the world who seem to have been born under alucky star. Everything upon which their hands are laid at once turnsinto gold; all their ventures are successful, or if they have a slightmishap it is more than compensated for directly afterwards by a grandsuccess. Fortune is never weary of smiling upon them; they are herprime favourites, and she marks her approval by heaping favours uponthem in a most indiscriminate and prodigal manner. Upon others shecontinually frowns. All their efforts uniformly bring back a plentifulharvest of disappointment. Their labour is ever in vain, they are leftto languish in misery and to repine over the illusion which temptedthem with a feigned promise of success ever nearer and nearer to ruin. 

Edmund was one of these last, and this was the more inexplicable bothto himself and a certain number of his friends, inasmuch as he, beingan astrologer, had discovered that he was born under a lucky star. 

His interview with the governor was short, but decisive. The gaolerstated the case against him, adding to the facts here and thereto embellish his story; and in a very short space of time he foundhimself manacled with heavy chains, which fastened him down to thefloor of the damp cell into which he had been thrust. 

At the Cock Tavern Sir George was ill at ease when he retired to restthat night. His slumber was broken, and when he slept it was only todream of his trial on the morrow. Hobgoblins were judges, and legionsof little imps bore witness against him. Old Dame Durden rose up fromher grave on purpose to bear witness against him in person, and as, inhis vision, he saw her stretch out her long, bony arms towards him, hefelt her cold, clammy hand upon his head, and awoke to find himself ina cold perspiration. 

He attempted to quieten his fears, and tried to reassure himself, and, having succeeded in some degree in doing this, he fell asleep again. 

It was a vain search for rest. This time a myriad of hostile pygmieswere dragging him down into a bottomless pit. They tugged, and pushed, and danced upon his helpless body, and laughed in spiteful glee as hedescended further and further into the dread abyss. 

He rose at cock-crow, unrefreshed both in body and mind, and, descending into the lower regions, he paced abstractedly through eachtenantless room in turn. 

He found it, however, a forlorn and cheerless way of killing the time. Everything seemed dead; not a sign of life was visible. The rooms weredesolate, and looked the worst, while the fire grate, empty save for afew dead ashes, seemed but a picture of his own misery, and instead ofyielding him even a grain of comfort, its bars, appeared to grin uponhim with solid defiance. Everything seemed comfortless in the extreme, and as the melancholy train of thought into which he had fallen wasin no wise cheered by this manner of proceeding, he passed into thelibrary, which seemed least cheerless of all, and sat himself down. 

Still he could not enliven himself nor shake off the gloomy feelingwhich had settled upon him; all around was perfectly still, and thevery silence palled upon his fancy. It was, he imagined, the calmbefore the storm; the tempest would be raging round him soon in allits fury; and moving the empty horn cups aside--the relics of thenight's carousal--he reached down a volume from the thinly-populatedbookshelf, hoping to calm his excited feelings by arousing an interestwhich might for a time distract his attention from the forthcomingtrial. It was a book of poems, and with a contemptuous "tush!" heimpatiently replaced it upon its shelf, and sank down into his seatand fell into a fitful doze, only to be tormented afresh by hosts ofenemies, each of whom was eager to destroy him, while he could onlylook on in dismay and witness his own fall. 

Sir George was no light weight, and under the pressure of his bodythe table was gradually pushed further and further away from the benchupon the smoothly polished boards, until at length it failed to offerhim any support and he was suddenly awakened by falling heavily uponthe floor. 

Half dazed by the fall, and still uncertain whether he were awake orasleep, the good knight rubbed his eyes and looked around. He heaveda sigh of relief to find that he was yet alive, for he had at firstimagined that the furies had succeeded in encompassing his ruin. Heran his fingers through his iron-grey locks of dishevelled hair, andcomprehending that he was seated upon the floor, he made an effort torise. 

As he placed his hand upon the floor it touched something whichyielded to the pressure. Involuntarily he drew it back and placedhimself instinctively in an attitude of defence. He hated verminof every kind, and this he instantly resolved was a rodent of somedescription. 

His first hurried glance showed him that he was mistaken. It was butan innocent roll of paper, and laughing at his fears, he picked it up, and placing it upon the table, regained his seat. 

He turned it over, but there was no superscription on its exterior tooffer any clue as to its owner, and taking it with him to the window, he pushed the lattice open and removed the shutter. The dial pointedto six, and the sun had risen. He peered closely into the roll heheld in his hand, and pressing the packet slightly open, he slowlydeciphered the writing. It was that of a lawyer. The first word heencountered was his own name, and brushing all scruples hastily aside, the baron burst the package open, and with little compunction sat downto peruse its contents. 

It took the knight, who was no fluent scholar, some considerable timeto read it through, and when, after the exercise of much patience, he had reached the end, the legal terms, which were so profuselyemployed, so baffled his simple understanding that he had decidedlyfailed to grasp its true intent. Of one thing, however, and only one, was he perfectly sure, and that was that he had come across the nameof Mary Burden and Nathan Grene several times in close connectionwith his own; but what heightened his surprise and added to hisdiscomfiture was that the name of Sir Ronald Bury also appeared. 

In this predicament he bethought himself of seeking aid to unravel themystery, and he hastened up to arouse his companion. 

Sir Thomas was dressed, and he met the baron at the top of thestairs--much to their mutual surprise. 

"Good morrow, Thomas, " exclaimed the baron, "I had come to awakenthee; see here!" and holding up the document he had discovered, hedragged the heir to the Derby estates downstairs without utteringanother word or allowing any time for explanations. 

"Read that, " he said, as soon as they were seated. 

Sir Thomas took the roll from the other's hand, and after asuperficial scrutiny he was soon deeply engrossed in carrying outthe command, while Sir George leaned his elbows upon the table andcarefully studied the changing emotions which followed each other inrapid succession upon the young man's face. 

Sir Thomas Stanley read it through twice, and then carefully foldingit up, he gave the baron a prolonged inquiring look. 

"Well, " exclaimed Sir George, "you have read it?"

"I have. "

"Is it important?"

"Assuredly it is. What have you done in the matter?"

"Naught, save that I have shown it thee. "

"Is that all, Sir George?"

"All! yes. Why?"

"It is valuable; where did you get it?"

"I found it upon the floor under the table. What is it, though?"

"Show me your summons first. You have discovered information, Ibelieve, which will tide you safely over the trial. "

"Eh!" ejaculated the old knight, dropping the bulky summons upon thetable; "found what?"

Sir Thomas returned no answer to the query, for, leaving his companionto grasp the importance of the words he had just uttered, he spreadout the two documents side by side upon the table and busied himselfin comparing them together. 

CHAPTER XV. 

SIR GEORGE AT WESTMINSTER. 

 Go, let the treacherous throw their darts And sore the good malign Perjure their conscience, stain their hearts, To gain their foul design. Yet shall right triumph at the end; And virtue fortune shall defend. 

 ANON. 

For some time the two noblemen sat in silence, but at length SirThomas Stanley looked up and gave the baron some very pleasant news. 

"You are safe, " he said. "You need no longer fear this Nathan Grene, nor Sir Ronald Bury, nor anybody else for the matter of that; you areperfectly safe. "

Sir George Vernon simply opened his eyes and his mouth wide in sheersurprise, and seeing that he made no attempt to speak, Sir Thomasproceeded. 

"This is a letter from Grene's own counsel. It is of the utmostimportance. Nathan Grene must have been here yesterday. "

"What! at the inn here? This very inn?"

"Aye! and in this very room. Here is his signature, dated yesterday. Maybe he is above even now. "

"Like enough, " said the baron fiercely, and he looked as if he wouldlike to search each separate chamber in the house there and then. 

"Listen, " said Stanley, "this is what the lawyer says: 'I am doubtfulif, after all, the prosecution will not fall through. The summons wasissued by your direction against "The King of the Peak, " whereas itought to have read "Sir George Vernon. " Warder, who, I hear, is theagent of the Vernon family, will surely recognise this, and if thebaron refuses to answer the title contained in the summons, then ourcase will fall to the ground. We must hope for the best, as we can dono more. It is too late to rectify the error now. '"

"Here, " said Sir Thomas, looking up, "the counsellor stops; but ourfriend Grene has added a few notes of his own, evidently directions tosome of his friends. "

"Go on, then, " commanded Sir George impetuously. 

"'We must get Warder out of the way till the trial is over, ' hewrites. 'The ostler here, who brings this message to thee, is in ourconfidence, and may be trusted. Meet as arranged to-night. If we failat the trial we will have our revenge elsewhere. I am in danger, andmay not meet you yet, but follow Sir Ronald and he will reward you. '"

He stopped reading, for while they had been thus together thehousehold had become astir, and it was evident that someone was aboutto enter the room in which they were seated. 

His conjecture was right, for barely had he paused ere the door waspushed open, and the ostler stepped quickly in, startled indeed tofind the library already occupied. He started to retire, but the baroncalled him back. 

"Come hither, sirrah, " he cried, regardless of his friend's wisercounsel to desist. 

Hugh unwillingly returned. 

"Do you know that?" Sir George exclaimed, holding up the packet he haddiscovered. 

Hugh had come purposely to seek it, but deeming it unwise to admitthe fact, he boldly answered in the negative. "That will do, " said theyounger knight quietly; "you can depart. "

Again he started to go, but again Sir George called him back. 

"Read it, " he said peremptorily, and he thrust the parchment into theostler's hands. 

"I cannot read, " he replied; but suddenly bethinking himself that hewas implicated by the written evidence, he quickly changed his mind, and eagerly snatching the document from the baron, he hastened out ofthe room and turned the lock sharply upon the wonder-stricken knights. 

No time was to be lost; Hugh knew their knocking would soon be heard, and that before long they would be released, when there would behue and cry after him; so, rapidly catching up a few of his ownthings--and he had few of his own handy enough to take--and addinga few convenient valuables belonging to his master to pay for hisservices, he quickly passed out of the house and sped on his way tojoin the confederates of Edmund Wynne. 

Edmund, too, had passed a sleepless night. At first he had attemptedto burst his chains asunder, but soon realising the utter uselessnessof such conduct, and being also covered with bruises, he desisted andpassed the next hour in calling out for relief. No relief came; onlythe mice and the insects heard his cries, and the former affrighted, sought seclusion in their holes, leaving the latter to survey insilent surprise the new comer who had intruded upon their privacy. 

Wearied out, he gave over shouting at last, and lay upon the floor ofhis damp cell, tossing uneasily about from side to side. The sun set;the dark night came and went; the morning sun arose, and yet he knewit not. It was too dark for him to see anything, for even no ray oflight found its way inside to gladden the heart of the prisoner. Hewas altogether shut off from the world; he was, for the time being, toall intents and purposes, buried alive. 

At length, after a night of abject misery, which seemed as if it neverwould end, he heard the key turned in the lock, and in another momentthe gaoler entered. He fastened Edmund's hands securely behind hisback, and unlocking the fetters he bade him follow him to the court. 

The landlord of the Cock Tavern was already there, much enraged at theloss of his property and the conduct of his servant, which he laid tothe charge of the prisoner. In a very short space of time Edmund Wynnewas convicted as a vagabond, and he listened akin to relief as theJudge sentenced him to be kept in the stocks for the rest of the dayand threatened him with a whipping in the pillory if he were broughtbefore him on a second occasion. Much to the annoyance of theinnkeeper, the attempt to connect the prisoner with the loss of hisproperty and the ostler's flight entirely broke down; and disgustedwith everybody and everything, the good man returned to the tavern tosmile with counterfeited pleasure at his customers, and to vent hisrage upon the servants who were left him. 

The loss of the paper somewhat disconcerted Sir George Vernon, andafter the disappearance of the ostler he sat for a minute or two quitedumbfounded, gazing in speechless surprise at the closed door. Hiscompanion was a man of action, however, and undaunted by finding thedoor locked, he hastened to the window, and would have attempted anexit there had it not been that the windows were too narrow for such aprocedure. 

Baffled again, but in nowise disheartened, he began to thunder at thedoor, and with the assistance of Sir George Vernon he soon made noiseenough to attract attention. 

The first to hear them was the chambermaid, and she, very naturallysuspecting that thieves were in the room, ran out into the yard andintimated as much, at the top of her voice, to all the neighbours. 

Meanwhile the knocking continued, and was, if anything, more vigorousthan before. Startled by such an unusual din, the worthy Bonifaceawoke from his slumbers, and, in no very enviable frame of mind, setoff, poker in hand, to summon aid. Help soon came, and, armed withpokers, brooms, and pitchforks, the door was quickly broken openand the gallant company rushed in, knocking Sir George over as theyentered. 

In the pause that followed the first rush the mistake was discovered, and the situation was explained. The landlord was profuse in hisapologies, the more so as he caught the look of anger in the baron'seye, but peace being quickly made, he rewarded his followers andsallied out to discover the whereabouts of his delinquent servant, breathing out dire threatenings against him. He searched in vain, andafter a thorough examination, returned in ill mood to partake of thefirst meal of the day, and to discover the extent of his losses ere heproceeded to appear against the unfortunate Edmund Wynne. 

As the baron and Sir Thomas rode together to Westminster a few hourslater, it was with spirits considerably higher than they could haveexpected four-and-twenty hours earlier. Sir George had resumed hishaughty bearing, but he was, in truth, though he would never haveconfessed it, more than a trifle nervous. At last the great JusticeHall was reached, and, with a parting injunction not to answer to thechallenge, Sir Thomas separated from him, passing in by one door whilethe baron entered by another. 

Sir George's nervous temperament was severely tried upon thisoccasion, for he had a considerable time to wait, and he found nobetter plan of whiling it away than that of impatiently pacing upand down in the little room allotted to him; and he imagined himselfsuffering all sorts of horrible tortures. 

At last his turn came. The door opened; his name was called; andcomposing himself as well as he was able, he stepped into the crowdedhall with considerable dignity, accompanied by a pompous member of theCourt, and at once became the cynosure of all eyes. 

He stood impassively, casting his eyes around in search of Sir ThomasStanley, and curious to recognise as many as he could among the motleycrowd which had come to see him tried. During the time the charge wasbeing read, and just as he had discovered his companion in the throngstraight before him, he was challenged by the Clerk of the Crown toplead. 

"King of the Peak, " cried the officer of the law, "hold up thine hand. Thou art accused of the murder of Mary Durden, spinster. Art thouguilty or art thou not guilty?"

Instinctively he held up his hand as directed, and in a bold andfearless voice which echoed along the passages answered, "_Notguilty_. "

As soon as he had uttered the words he remembered that he had donewrong, but it was too late to recall it now, and filled with nopleasant forebodings by learning that the one who had just stepped outof the place in which he had stood had been committed to the Tower, hewatched the swearing-in of the jury with stolid indifference. 

It was soon evident that something was wrong somewhere. The minionsof the court rushed hither and thither in the utmost haste; messagespassed from the Judge to the clerks who sat at the table below; andby-and-bye the fact leaked out that neither the prosecutor nor thewitnesses were in attendance. 

"Nathan Grene, " called the clerk, "stand forth. " There was no answer. 

"Nathan Grene, " he repeated in a louder voice, "come forward andaccuse this man. "

The cry was taken up both inside the hall and without; but still noNathan Grene appeared, nor was he likely to, for at that time he wassitting securely in the stocks; the sport of every passer-by, andthe delight of some little mischievous urchins, who were amusingthemselves by pulling his hair and sprinkling him with dirty water, while he was powerless to defend himself in any way. 

"Nathan Grene, " exclaimed the Judge in tones of awful dignity, "youare called upon to support the charge of murder against the King ofthe Peak; a charge made by yourself. This is the last time thou wiltbe summoned to answer, and unless you now appear, or afterwards showgood, full, and sufficient cause for thine absence, the law shall turnits course on thee. "

The long silence which followed this speech was broken only by theJudge, who rose again from his seat, and turning to Sir George toldhim he was free; and amid the congratulations of his friends and theconcealed disappointment of his enemies, he passed triumphantly out ofthe hall which had proved so fatal to so many of the nobility beforehim, as it has also done since. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 

 But whatsoe'er his crime, than such a cave A worse imprisonment he could not have. * * * * * But here a roaring torrent bids you stand. Forcing you climb a rock on the right hand, Which, hanging penthouse-like, does overlook The dreadful channel of the rapid brook. Over this dangerous precipice you crawl, Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall. 

 WONDERS OF THE PEAK, 1725. 

Elated by their success, the two noblemen at once left London andhastened on towards Haddon, and leaving the city behind them withfew regrets, they arrived at Derby late in the afternoon of the dayfollowing the trial. 

It was Sir Thomas Stanley's time to be impatient now He was anxiousto behold Margaret again, and leaving the baron behind him to settlea few matters of business he rode off upon a fresh horse to carry thegood news to the Hall, and to herald the approach of the knight. 

John Manners was keeping Dorothy company on the top of the Eagle Towerwhen Sir Thomas appeared in sight. A "look out" had been on the watchfor the last three days, waiting to announce the approach of theexpected messenger from London, and each night a beacon fire had beenlighted, that in the darkness he might not pass by. But no messengercame, and anxiety was beginning to make itself apparent on more facesthan one when the two lovers espied the fast-approaching rider, andproclaimed the news to the household below. 

Margaret soon joined them company. She was burning with impatience toread the long-expected missive and she eagerly watched the horsemandraw nearer who was bringing her tidings from her betrothed. 

"See Meg, " exclaimed the overjoyed Dorothy, "thither he comes!" andshe pointed to a cloud of dust in the far distance, in the midst ofwhich might be seen every now and again the indistinct form of a horseand its rider. 

"Maybe he will pass by, " exclaimed Manners. 

"Not he!" scornfully replied Margaret, "he will none pass by. Noneother than a messenger to Haddon would ride like that. The steed ishard put to it; surely it is near its journey's end. "

"Well, we shall soon see, " interposed Doll, "he is making good speed. "

It was as Dorothy said. Even while they had been talking, the riderhad considerably lessened the distance which separated him from theHall, and, had it not been for the dim twilight which was then slowlydeepening, they would have been enabled to distinguish more than theyhad already done. 

"He rides well, " said Margaret, more to herself than to either of theothers. "Methinks I know that ride. "

"'Tis like Crowleigh's, " said Manners. 

"But Sir Everard is with Father Philip. It cannot be him, " returnedDorothy. 

"There is but one man who bestrides a saddle in such a fashion, "exclaimed Margaret, as she carefully scanned the horseman. "But no! itcannot be so. I thought it was Sir----"

"Sir Thomas Stanley, " exclaimed Dorothy, taking the words out of hersister's mouth. 

"I thought it was he, " she confessed; "and see, " she added, raisingher voice, "it is Sir Thomas; I thought it was, " and she left thelovers as she had found them, and hastened down, greatly excited, to meet her own beloved, and not without some feelings of dismay atseeing him return alone. 

Leaving the succeeding scene to be imagined rather than described, wewill hark back to Sir George at Derby. 

He accomplished his business more expeditiously than he hadanticipated, and in a very brief space of time started out ofthe town, hoping with a hope soon to be dispelled that he might, perchance, overtake Sir Thomas. 

Without a halt he arrived at Matlock at just about the same time ashis companion reached Haddon, and reining up his steed at the villageinn close by the churchyard, he alighted for a short rest and somerefreshment ere he finished what remained of his journey. 

He was well known here, and his peremptory commands were obeyed withthe utmost alacrity. 

His first enquiry was about Sir Thomas Stanley, and he learned to hissatisfaction that he had passed safely through there a good hour or sobefore. 

"In good sooth, your lordship is surely going no further to-night, "exclaimed the host, as Sir George made the preliminary preparation forresuming his journey. 

"Tut, man, why not? Of course I shall. "

"Your horse is stabled, " responded the landlord; "surely you will notattempt to ride further to-night. "

"My horse stabled, " thundered the baron, "I said not so; 'tis freshfrom Derby. Out with it, man, and let me away. "

The horse was quickly unstabled, and brought round to the tavern door, but the innkeeper was loth to let the good knight depart. It was athing he would not do for a trifle, and he feared for the safety ofthe baron. 

"The roads are very bad, " he exclaimed, as they stepped into thelittle passage together, "and it will be dark ere you reach the Hall, my lord. Had you not better change your mind?"

The knight declined the request in the most emphatic manner, andplaced his foot upon the stirrup to mount. 

"There be many rogues and footpads in the neighbourhood of late, andespecially to-day, " pursued the other. "I have had as ill-looking acrew in my house to-day as I ever clapt eyes upon; I am sure they bodeno good. "

Nothing, however, could persuade Sir George to stay, and seeing thathis guest was obdurate, the host continued, "Stay awhile, Sir George, an' thou wilt, thou shalt at least have aman of mine to accompany thee. The neighbourhood is full of knaves oflate, and I like it not that thou should'st go alone. "

But the offer was lightly refused; and fearing nothing for his ownsafety, the old knight spurred his horse forward, and in a few momentswas lost to sight in the fast-settling gloom. 

Little time as he and Sir Thomas had lost in leaving London, and quickas they had been in reaching Derby, there had yet been those who hadbeen more expeditious than they. 

Upon the receipt of the unwelcome news which the ostler had brought tothem, Edmund Wynne's confederates at once departed from the city, andunder the leadership of Sir Ronald Bury hastened on, with few rests, to the wilds of Derbyshire, to perform the deed, still enshrouded inmystery, which they had been hired, if necessary, to perform. 

Blissfully unconscious of the trap into which he was rushing, andwholly contemptuous of the idea of being benighted, the lord of Haddonrode fearlessly on. The way was dark to be sure, but he knew it well, and what added to his confidence was the fact that he was right in thevery heart of his own possessions. 

He had barely ridden a couple of furlongs, though, before his horsebecame restive, and in response to a free application of both whip andspur only pricked up its ears and advanced in a more unsatisfactorymanner than before. 

Still suspecting nothing, the baron applied the whip more vigorously. He perceived, clearly enough, that his charger was frightened atsomething or other, and to inspire it with a little of his own couragehe started to whistle a lively tune which he had heard Dorothy playupon the spinet till he got it well by heart. 

The tune was never finished, for barely had he begun it when thebranch of a tree, which was hurled at him from the side of the road, completely unhorsed him and sent him rolling into the ditch on theother side. 

Before he could rise or place himself in any posture of defence hewas roughly seized, and in spite of his struggles was carried away ashelpless as a child, whilst to aggravate his position his eyes weretightly blindfolded. 

"What does this mean?" he shouted out in desperation; but no onedeigned to answer. 

"I am Sir George Vernon, " he added stoutly, but if he had thought thatthis was information, or that his captors would be inclined toquake before this declaration of his rank and person, he was sorelymistaken, and the brief answer they returned soon convinced him on thepoint. 

"We know it, " they laughed; "we are no fools. "

"Nathan Grene, " he passionately shouted, "you shall rue this day. " Heno longer wondered now at the non-appearance of his adversary; he feltconfident that the recreant smith was there, and the thought of beingthus within his power goaded him into a frenzy of passion. 

"Thou shalt live to rue this bitterly, " he repeated, but before hecould say anything further his mouth was filled with grass, and inspite of his attempts to speak he could no longer succeed in makinghimself heard. 

How far he was being carried he knew not, nor yet did he know the way;and beyond making a few desultory attempts to disengage his netherlimbs from the vice-like grasp in which they were enclosed, the baronmade no further attempts to free himself. 

It was quite dark before they stopped, and when his bandages weretaken off he had only sufficient time to discover that they had haltedat the mouth of a cave before his captors seized hold of hisperson and unceremoniously pushed him in, sending, after a briefconsultation, one of their number after him to see that he made noeffort to escape. 

"Where is Nathan Grene?" inquired the outraged nobleman, as soon as hefound himself at liberty; "I want to see him. "

"Happen you do!" replied his keeper, who was none other than theostler; "then, maybe, you will find him at London. You were nearenough to him in the stable loft; maybe he is out of the stocks againnow. "

"Don't talk with him, " commanded an imperious voice from the exterior, "or he will be taking you unawares. "

The order was literally complied with, and to all his queriesthenceforward the baron could gain no reply. At length he gave up theattempt, and watched in sullen silence his captors kindle a fire justwithin the cavern mouth. 

He meditated a dash out, but the venture seemed to promise littlehope, and seeing, after a time, that the man had fallen asleep, heproceeded to explore his prison. 

It was a long cave, and there were many fissures and passagesbranching out on either side, but he found to his intense disgust thatinstead of leading out into the open they all terminated after a fewyards in a solid wall of rock. 

Nothing daunted by his successive disappointments, the lord of Haddoncarefully wound his way round the circuitous cavern path. He found itdifficult work, however, to walk in darkness in an unknown way, and hemade little progress until, suddenly remembering that the ostler hadcharge of the tinder and flint which his associates had thrown inafter kindling their fire, he stole back as quickly as he could tofetch it. 

He found everything exactly as it was when he left it. The ostler wasstill asleep and loudly snoring; the noisy gang beyond were cookingtheir evening meal, and without attracting their attention hesucceeded in gaining the coveted articles, and rapidly retreated withthem in his possession. 

He waited before obtaining a light, until a sharp bend in the cavesecured his position, and then, stooping down, he struck the flintand steel together and made a torch of his cravat. He was now able tohasten forward, and fearful lest his torch should burn away ere hehad effected his escape, he pushed quickly on, and soon reached thefarthest end. 

The cave, which had been gradually narrowing as Sir George advanced, instead of suddenly rising up into the ground above, or ending in anarrow opening, as the good knight had fervently hoped, terminatedin a deep chasm, and far down below there rushed a tumultuous stream. Even as he stopped short, startled by the discovery, a stone rolledover the brink, and after a pause of several seconds' duration theforlorn explorer was suddenly recalled to a sense of his position byhearing a faint splash in the deep waters far below. 

He turned round regretfully, and commenced to return, fully decided, unless he quickly discovered a way of escape, to attempt to surprisehis captors by rushing through their midst, trusting to the darknessof the night to favour his escape. 

He had not gone far before he discovered that his absence had beennoticed. The ostler must have awaked; the echoing cavern resoundedwith the imprecations of his companions, and their approachingfootsteps warned him that they were coming in search of him. Not amoment was to be lost, and espying a large shelving rock which juttedout from a side passage, Sir George Vernon hastily clambered up andextinguished his light. The mass of rock upon which he had takenrefuge was fairly flat, and he was able to maintain his position uponit; but he soon discovered that it would not be big enough to screenhim from view were the searchers to look in that direction. It was toolate to think of moving now, for his pursuers were close at hand; hecould even distinguish the reflection of their torches; there was onlyone course open for him, and that was to endeavour to squeeze throughthe narrow fissure at the end of the ledge on which he lay. 

A squeeze and a cut or two, a tug and a stifled groan; another squeezemore violent by far than the former one, and the portly baron rolledpanting through the jagged briar-covered little crevice, just as thelight of the searchers illuminated the place from which he had only amoment before released himself. 

Some painful moments elapsed ere he stopped rolling, and then itwas not until he found himself entangled in the strong but friendlyembrace of one of the tough blackberry bushes which were growingin profusion, and still continue to do so, on the hill sides ofDerbyshire. He had, in fact, found out a way of escape just as he hadabandoned all hope of doing so, and carefully extricating himself fromhis uncomfortable position, he pursued his way by Masson's shadowyheights, boiling over with rage against his ruffianly captors, andmade the best of his way to the nearest inn to secure a horse to carryhim home. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A DALE ABBEY HERMIT. 

 Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age, a reverend hermit grew; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; Remote from man, with God he passed his days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 

 PARNELL. 

Sir George's first care upon his arrival at Haddon was to send off anumber of his retainers to capture, if possible, the gang which hadentrapped him; but after searching for nearly a couple of days theywere obliged to return and communicate their failure to their lord. The villains had all made off and left not a clue behind them. 

His next care was to calm the overwrought feelings of Lady Maude andhis daughters, to whom the suspense of the last few hours had beenpainful in the extreme; and then after he had refreshed his inner man, he retired to seek that repose for which he was so well prepared. 

Time sped on; the days soon passed into weeks, and the lovely springhad merged into a still more lovely summer. John Manners' visit hadcome to a close, and he was longing for an invitation for anothervisit and seeking to find some decent excuse for becoming aself-invited guest. 

At last, much to his relief, he received the long-wished-forinvitation. He and Crowleigh were invited together to one of thenumerous feasts of Haddon's hospitable Hall, and De la Zouch, whosewounds were now fast healing, was wishful that a reconciliation shouldtake place between them, and professed himself even anxious to makesome advances towards his late adversary. 

Without loss of time the two guests sped on their way at the appointedtime, and were amongst the very first of the visitors. Disappointment, however, awaited them. Father Philip was dying. The Derby leechhad done his best to restore the injured man, and although he hadsucceeded in prolonging the patient's life for a little while, allhis efforts to save the unfortunate confessor failed, and seeing thefather suddenly begin to sink, he had, the night before John Mannersarrived, given up all hope of saving his life, and announced that theend was nigh at hand. 

Under these circumstances mounted messengers were at once despatchedto inform the invited guests that it had been found necessary topostpone the feast, and asking them to defer their visit until theyshould hear again from Haddon. This, in almost every other instance, had succeeded in staying the visitors; but Manners and Crowleigh hadstarted at the break of day, and were well on their way before themessenger had found his way to stop them. 

A little manoeuvring on Dorothy's part gained, to Margaret's qualifieddelight, an invitation for them to stay from no less a personage thanthe dying man himself. Father Philip had taken kindly to Crowleighfrom the first, and was grateful to him for the skill and patience hehad bestowed upon him on his previous visit, and he was ready enoughto accede to any request, whatever it might be, that his Dorothy, hisbeloved Dorothy, thought well to ask. 

Not a brother of the cloth could be found to take the father's place, and this loss proved exceedingly awkward to all at Haddon at thisjuncture. 

The Reformation had come in with so much vigour; the enactmentsagainst the Roman Catholics were so stringent, that not even anotherpriest could be found to shrive him. The pendulum of fortune hadindeed swung back again with a vengeance. From one extreme thereligious laws had gone to the other; and so it befell that thefather, to his exceeding great regret, found himself dying with nevera minister of his own persuasion near at hand. 

Crowleigh again came to his relief. He had a friend, a staunchCatholic who had been expelled from Oxford University soon afterElizabeth's accession on account of his strong religious views. He hadturned monk, and, during the recent pitiless times, it had frequentlyfallen to Sir Everard's lot to befriend him. He was at this time inhiding at no great distance from Crowleigh's estate, and the latterhad sufficient confidence in his friend's willingness to come topromise Sir George Vernon that he would fetch him. 

The offer was gladly accepted. Without any delay the two best horsesin the stable were saddled, and within a very short space of timeboth horses and rider were well started on their way towards thesouth-western boundary of the shire. 

Nicholas Bury had for two years lived the life of a hermit. In hisseclusion he had become happy, and though the reverence was denied himwhich the early hermits had accustomed themselves to receive, yet hewas at least unmolested, and thanks to Sir Everard, who ever assistedhim in time of need, he was never left to want for the few necessariesof life that he required. 

Sir Everard Crowleigh rode hard all the morning, and stopping on hiserrand but once--to partake of a light meal--he arrived at the abodeof his friend as the twilight put forth its gentle mask of gloom. 

Deepdale was an attractive spot, but it was not the natural beauty ofthe scene which had first attracted the eyes of Nicholas Bury so muchas the facilities it offered for his purpose. Centuries before apious Derby baker had retired to the self-same spot, and besides thishallowed memory there was the still more substantial cell to handwhich the saintly old recluse had left behind him. 

This, cut out of the solid rock, and situated at the summit of a deepdeclivity, was overgrown by a curtain of ivy, which not only screenedits tenant from the wintry winds, but also hid his retreat fromthe gaze of the innocent passer-by. The Abbey, hard by, hadbeen dismantled before Nicholas knew it, but it was a source ofgratification to him to be so near so sacred a building, and ateventide he would wander fondly about its walls and murmur his vespersto himself. 

Sir Everard paused before entering upon the solitude of his friend, and would fain have rested his weary limbs on the mossy banks ofthe slope, but remembering how nearly Father Philip was to death heoverruled his feelings, and, brushing through the ivy covering of thedoorway, he entered quietly into the sanctum of the hermit. 

Nicholas was evidently deeply engaged in his devotions, for he waskneeling before the little altar of his cell, and, catching somewhatof the spirit of reverence, Everard paused upon the threshold, lothto penetrate any further. The lamp gave but a fitful flickering light, hut the devotee heeded not; and, by-and-bye, as the knight stoodspellbound, the wick sputtered in the oil, and making a final effortthe flame shot up for a moment with a brilliant glare and then diedslowly out, leaving nothing but a fragment of smouldering wick and asickly odour to attest its presence. 

Crowleigh roused himself as it died away, and came to the resolutionthat it was high time to announce his presence; and failing todistinguish any signs to intimate that his friend's prayers werenearing conclusion he advanced towards him. 

He had scarcely moved a step when he started back with horror. Therewas little enough light entered within this solitary abode, but yetthere was quite enough to enable him to see curled up together upon abed of leaves a number of snakes of different kinds. His first impulsewas to rush out and escape, but bethinking himself of the defencelessposition of his friend, he picked up a huge stone and let it fall uponthem. 

Still Nicholas did not stir, and heedless of the badger, whichfiercely showed its teeth and looked as if it meditated an attack uponhim, Sir Everard strode softly up to his friend's side and tapped himlightly on the shoulder. 

"Nicholas, " he exclaimed. 

Nicholas returned no answer, and his friend stood dumbfounded. Surelythat pale face and that emaciated form could not belong to the oncesturdy companion, or--and he noticed that the eyes were closed; orelse--and he trembled at the bare idea--Nicholas Bury must be dead!

He put out his hand and shook it gently, and he was speedily rewardedby seeing his friend open his eyes. 

"Lie still, Leo, " he commanded, addressing the badger. 

The faithful animal, which had regarded the intruder with markeddisfavour, rolled itself up again in obedience to the command, andremained in the corner watching the knight with glistening eyes. 

"Nicholas, " repeated Crowleigh, for he had not yet been noticed. Nicholas turned slowly round, as if his ears had not deceived him, but on seeing his friend and benefactor standing by his side, his facelighted up with pleasure, and he quickly arose. 

"My good friend, Everard, " he exclaimed, as he warmly shook theproffered hand, "thou art indeed a stranger here. "

"Aye, I have a mission to thee, " he replied. 

"A mission, " the hermit echoed. Art thou, then, the bearer ofill-tidings to me? Is my safety jeopardised, or what? Tell me, Everard, let me know it all. I have done no man evil that I wotof--unless in these evil days it be wrong to visit the sick and theafflicted; but I am ready for aught, even though it were instantdeath. "

"Nay, Nicholas, " returned his friend, "thou art in a gloomy strain. I am a messenger of peace; I bear good tidings to thee, not ill-news. Thou must away with me at once. "

"I cannot go; but see! my lamp is out. I must light it again. Yousee how indifferent I am, " he apologetically exclaimed, "I even fallasleep over my prayers. "

"Ha! I perceive thou art over-weary; take my advice for the once, anddo not rise so soon, nor pray so long. "

"Ah, Everard, 'tis not that, " replied the holy man; "I have not beento my poor couch since yester morning. I have been praying through thenight for the speedy restoration of our holy Church. "

"And see, whilst thou hast been sleeping I have saved thy life, "interjected Everard; "but I must tell thee on my journey. I would havethee accompany me back to Haddon. "

"My poor pets!" exclaimed the hermit sorrowfully, as he lifted up thestone; "they are all killed. "

"'Tis a case of death, I fear, " pursued Crowleigh, referring to thefather's illness. 

"I fear it is, " replied the other, looking ruefully at his dead pets. "Thou hast killed my companions, Everard. "

"Ugh! pretty companions, I trow, " said the knight, scornfully; "but wemust hasten. I will acquaint thee with the whys and wherefores aswe go. Nay, never mind the lamp, thou can'st say adieu to that. Ourhorses are tethered to a tree below, and thou must shrive a friend whois at death's door--a priest. I have ridden throughout the livelongday to fetch thee. Art thou ready now?"

"What, so soon? This is sudden indeed. "

"Aye, man, so soon. Death tarries for no man, and, beshrew me, it willnot tarry for us either. "

"I must take Leo, then. "

"Very well, pick him up, but let us be off I pray. "

"This is _too_ sudden, Everard, indeed it is. I have many sick tovisit, and I would fain go to the monastery just once again, tobid----"

"There must be no buts about it, Nicholas, " returned his friendquickly, "the father is dying, and the baron expects you. "

"Give me but an hour, then I will go with thee. 'Tis sad to breakaway from a spot hallowed by so many sacred memories, and at so shortwarning, too. I am loth to go, Everard, even now. There is no otherspot on earth like this to me. "

"'Tis a cold and cheerless home, truly, " exclaimed the knight, sympathetically, "and I will find thee a far better one, Nicholas. See, I will give thee half-an-hour, and then you must bid adieu tothis place or I must return alone and leave thee. "

Nicholas submitted to the decision of his friend, and in less than thestipulated time they had both turned their backs upon the hospitableshelter which had been a home to the monk when every door seemed shutagainst him, and were on their way to Haddon. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE CHAMBER OF DEATH. 

 Child, if it were thine error or thy crime, I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt; but I am sick of time. And I desire to rest. 

 TENNYSON. 

Haddon Hall was sighted by the two travellers just before mid-day, andlong before they reached it Manners had been despatched in great hasteto hasten them forward with the news that the poor father was almostat his last gasp. 

They needed not the urging, for they had ridden hard, almost without arest, and not only was Nicholas thoroughly wearied out by the unusualexertion of riding but the horses were sorely jaded too. 

In a few minutes they all three rode up to the doorway together, andleaving their steeds to Manners, Sir Everard Crowleigh took the priestto the sick man's chamber. 

Father Philip was reclining upon the well-cushioned couch when theyentered. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep; he hadnot enjoyed the luxury of a sleep for days past, and the haggardexpression of his face, and the twitching muscles of his body, foretold only too truly that the end of the father was not very faraway. 

The sick man knew it, and was willing to escape from his agony assoon as he had received the proper consolation and preparation of hisreligion. His only fear was that he would not linger long enoughto receive it, but that he might his lips were even then moving inprayer. 

Dorothy was sitting by his bedside, and as Nicholas Bury steppedgently forward she silently arose, and, with a heart too full topermit her to speak, she offered him her hand as a token of welcome, and led him up to the chair upon which she had just been sitting. 

Her courtesy was acknowledged by a most profound bow, but, refusingthe seat she proffered him, Nicholas reached another for himself andsat down upon it by the side of the maiden. 

It was a long time since Nicholas had witnessed so much magnificencegathered together in one room, and tired by his long ride and soothedby the grateful odour of the incense which filled the room, and alsostruck by a feeling of reverential awe by the solemnity of thewhole scene, which readily appealed to his religious instincts, heremembered nothing of what had just transpired, but leaned his headupon his hand and fell into a reverie, such as he had allowed himselfto indulge in when alone in his solitary Deepdale cell. 

"He is not asleep, " said Dorothy, stretching forward and laying herhand upon his arm. "He has been waiting long for thee. "

Her voice startled Nicholas, who had become sublimely unconscious ofhis surroundings; and incoherently murmuring some remark, maybe theconclusion of one of his prayers, he turned round and fixed his gazeupon the form of the dying man. 

"Reverend father, " he exclaimed in a subdued and quiet voice, "I amhere to aid thee. "

Father Philip turned himself round with difficulty and faced thespeaker. 

"Dorothy, " he called. 

"I am here, father, " she replied, "I have never left thee. "

"Take it away from my eyes, child, " he commanded. 

Father Philip never called her child except on rare occasions whenher conduct displeased him, and she would have felt hurt at theappellation now had it not been for the unusual circumstances of thecase. She looked inquiringly at him to fathom his meaning, but, seeingnothing to remove, she would have asked him what it was he meant, hadhe not interrupted her. 

"Take it away, Dorothy, " he repeated, "I cannot see. "

"Poor brother, " exclaimed Nicholas, noticing the discomfiture. "I fearme thou art blind. There is naught to take away, save the film fromoff thine eyes. "

"Brother, did you say?" asked the dying man. "Did you say brother; areyou then the priest? Praise be to God; I shall die easy now, " and heburied his face in the pillow and wept for joy. 

"Let him lie as he is, " whispered Nicholas; "he will be far easier so. Poor man, he is indeed at the portals of death. "

"The leech said so, " replied the heart-broken Dorothy, and then for along time they sat motionless, watching with intense earnestness eachmovement of the dying man. 

The good father wept unrestrainedly. His whole frame quivered withemotion as the sobs escaped his breast; until, after a time, thesounds gradually and yet perceptibly grew weaker and fainter, andfinally died away altogether. 

"He is dead!" sobbed Dorothy, after a long pause. 

"Nay, see, " replied her companion, "his bosom heaves, but the end isvery near. May my last hour be as calm as this, " he added earnestly, as he gazed as the father. 

"Amen, so be it, Nicholas Bury, " said a voice from the region of thedoorway. 

The monk started at the sound of his name, but did not move; thetapers were burning before the altar, and the curtain was drawn, andhe failed to distinguish the features of the visitor. 

Dorothy, even through her ears, noticed that he was startled anddiscomposed, and she hastened to reassure him. 

"No harm, no harm, good father; 'tis but Master John Manners, " shesaid. 

"You have not forgotten me, surely?" inquired Manners, steppingforward, and throwing the light upon his face. 

The priest gave a start of surprise as he recognised the visage of thenew comer. 

"Forgotten a Rutland?" he exclaimed. "No, never! Right glad am I tomeet with thee again, but hush! This is the chamber of death. I willsee thee afterwards. The father moves, see. "

Father Philip endeavoured to turn himself over, but he was too weak tosucceed, and he fell back exhausted. 

"Oh, dear, " he groaned, "I am a sinful man. "

"So are we all, brother, " returned Nicholas. "The best of us are verysinful. "

"Dorothy. "

Doll stood up and leaned over the bed. 

"Give me your hand, my daughter. "

She placed her hands between the thin hands which the father held outfeebly to her, while the hot tears trickled down her face and fell inrapid succession upon the quilted coverlid beneath. 

"Will you kiss me, Doll?" he asked. "I shall never ask aught of theeagain. Tell the baron, " he slowly continued, addressing the priestnow, "tell him that I blessed her and told her yes. "

Dorothy bent down thoroughly heartbroken, and kissed the marble-likeforehead, dropping as she did a shower of tears upon his face. 

"What is that, the holy water?" he asked, placing his finger upon oneof the drops. 

"I could not help it, father, " she sobbed aloud, "indeed I could not. They are tears, but I will wipe them off. "

"God bless thee, Doll, thou hast a tender heart. Nay, nay, leave themon I beseech thee, they shall be thy last gift to the old man; I willtake them with me into my grave. "

He paused, but Dorothy could not speak. She covered her face with herhands and wept on. 

"May the Blessed Virgin ever be your friend, " he continued, restinghis hand upon her head, "and may the saints protect thee. I havenaught to give thee, Doll, but thou shalt have my blessing. God blessthee, Doll, God bless thee and thy lover, " and he sank back upon thebed completely exhausted. 

They sat motionless by his side for some minutes, only Dorothy's sobsand the sick man's broken sighs breaking upon the silence, until atlast Manners advanced, and taking the hand of his betrothed, led herunresistingly out into the garden. 

Nicholas sat, after their departure, until well into the night, watching by the bedside, before Father Philip opened his eyes again. Many inquirers had visited the room, but they had departed again, and, though they knew it not, they had looked for the last time upon thefamiliar form of the confessor, ere he breathed his last. 

As the morrow dawned the old man passed away, happy, inasmuch asNicholas had afforded him the last rites of his religion. As thetwilight descended the chapel bell rung out upon the stillness of theeventide. It was the Sabbath, but amid the sorrow and the gloom whichreigned around, this fact had been well-nigh forgotten. 

The summer breeze carried the sound a long way along the dale. Ithad not been heard since the day of Father Philip's accident, and itssound had been sorely missed. 

But now it was no longer the herald of peace, nor the token of joy, for the villagers knew full well that it was tolling the knell ofthe departed priest, and their hearts were heavy with sorrow for thefriend they knew had just passed away. 

The chapel was open. It was free for the once to as many as couldenter, and there were few around who did not wish to show respect tothe man who had surely, in one way or another, proved himself theirfriend. 

The limited number that the chapel could accommodate took their placeslong before the vesper bell stopped ringing, and when Sir George camein, bringing in with him the Lady Maude, and followed by his daughtersand the two guests, there was a large concourse of disappointedworshippers outside who were bent on remaining as near the sacrededifice as they might get. Though they were denied admittance, theywould hear the solemn chant as it sounded through the open windows, and they felt that they would fall under the same sacred influence asthose who were inside; and whilst these latter were favoured by thehallowing influences of the sanctuary, they were compensated for thisby the rustling of the leaves, which seemed to moan in sympathy withthem as the wind swept gently by. 

Of all who mourned the loss of the father--and there were many whoregretted that he was taken from their midst--none was more sincere inher grief than Dorothy, and none apparently was so little affected bythe loss as Margaret. 

This maiden had watched the growing familiarity of the intercoursebetween her sister and John Manners with no friendly eyes. She hadperceived that it was necessary to take action at once in the matter, and at her express command her lover was even now on a mission to hisbrother to secure the double alliance between the two houses of Vernonand Stanley, upon which she and Lady Vernon had set their minds. 

The absence of Sir Thomas had intensified her feelings in the matter, and seeing Manners leading Dorothy out of the sick man's chamber withhis arm interlinked with hers, it had goaded her to such a frenzythat, regardless of the inopportunity of the time, she had proceededstraightway to Sir George and Lady Maude and had laid the matterbefore them in a most unfavourable light. 

And now, as the impressive requiem was about to be sung--a dirge fullof soul-stirring reflections and sacred grandeur--Margaret's headwas full of bitterness, and she failed to respond to the sympatheticsublimity of the service, or to notice its serene beauty either. Toher it was nothing more than a tiresome form; her interest was centredon Dorothy alone, and she heartily condemned herself for not arrangingthat. Dorothy should not sit beside the esquire. It was a dreary andunpleasant time to her, and when she raised her eyes from hersister it was only impatiently to watch the deepening shades of theapproaching night as they registered themselves upon the glass-panesat her side. The windows gradually became more and more difficult tosee through; each time she looked it had grown a shade darker, untilat length the pure glass had changed, to her unmitigated satisfaction, in hue from clear transparency to green, and from that to black. 

At length the service was over. She hailed its conclusion with a sighof relief, mentally promising the new confessor but a small portionof her favour if he were always as long-winded as he had been on thisoccasion; and she anxiously awaited the moment when Sir George wouldrise from his knees and lead the way out, so that she might carryDorothy off in safety. 

The time came in due course. The baron rose; the others followed hisexample, and as Lady Maude, less haughty than usual, led the way outof the chapel, Margaret eagerly caught hold of her sister and led heraway in silence across the courtyard and into the hall. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

"THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. "

'Twere wild to hope for her, you say, I've torn and cast those wordsaway, Surely there's hope! For life 'tis well Love without hope'simpossible. 

--COVENTRY PATMORE. 

Father Philip had lain under the sod but one sunset before the fruitsof Margaret's intriguing began to make themselves apparent. 

It was with a secret sense of misgiving that Manners received aninvitation, which he readily construed into a command, to attend thebaron in his private room, and it was with a fluttering heart that heprepared himself to meet Dorothy's father. Nor were his forebodingsset at rest or in anywise lightened by the first view he got of thebaron. 

Sir George was pacing up and down the room, but hearing the door openhe stopped suddenly, and when Manners entered he saw upon the knight'sface a look which at once struck a chill to his heart. 

"Sit down, Manners, sit down, " said the baron curtly. 

He was nervous and excited, and as Manners obeyed the injunctionhe clearly perceived this fact, and it afforded him a littlesatisfaction. 

"You wished to see me?" he exclaimed, breaking the awkward silencewhich ensued after he had sat down. 

"Eh, yes, I did. "

Another long pause followed, which was painful alike to both. 

The baron's agitation increased, and it did not need any greatexercise of shrewdness to guess the cause. The lover guessed itintuitively, and deftly altered the topic which was just about to bebroached. 

"Poor Father Philip is gone, " he exclaimed in a sympathetic tone. 

"Ye-e-s, " slowly assented the baron. 

"And you miss him, I perceive, " pursued the esquire tremulously. 

"Very true, but--"

"And I hear Nicholas Bury is about to depart, " hazarded Manners, interrupting the baron. 

"Eh! what?" exclaimed Sir George. "Father Nicholas going?"

"He has informed Everard so. "

"No, he must stay, " returned the knight, banishing the wrinkles thathad contracted his brow; "of course he must stay. "

He was clearly off his guard now, and Manners breathed easier again;for, thanks to the efforts of Dorothy and Crowleigh, as well as tohis own perceptions, he was by no means ignorant of the conspiracy ofwhich he was the victim, and he wished to procrastinate the inevitableinterview until a more favourable time presented itself for thepurpose. 

"Where did he come from?" continued the baron, drifting innocentlyfarther and farther away from the purpose of the interview. 

"Am I to trust thee with his secret then?" asked the lover. 

"Of course, let me know all. I shall protect him, come what will. "

"Then he is Sir Ronald Bury's brother. "

"He is a better man than his brother, then, " exclaimed Sir George, when he had overcome his astonishment. "Did Sir Everard fetch him fromNottingham?"

"Nay, from Dale Abbey. "

"Ha!" ejaculated the baron, "say you so? The abbey is dismantled, andmethought I knew every Catholic in the shire. "

"Then, Sir George, you forgot the hermitage, " was the prompt reply. 

Sir George had just caught sight of his good lady through the openlattice window, and as he saw her wending her way quickly along thepath it painfully recalled him to a sense of his position. 

"I sent for thee, " he said suddenly, changing the conversation andknitting his brow, "because I wished to see thee on a matter of muchimportance. "

"I am honoured by your confidence, " promptly returned the esquire, making a gallant effort to escape the subject, "but pray on noaccount tell either Everard or Nicholas that it was I who gave theinformation. I was charged to tell no man, by my honour. "

Unluckily, Lady Vernon passed the door just as he was speaking, andthe sound of her footsteps kept the subject too well in the baron'smind for him to wander from it again. 

"About Dorothy, " he explained, ignoring the last remark. 

Manners was nonplussed; he attempted no rejoinder, and the baron pacedthe room again in great perturbation. At length he stopped. 

"'Tis an awkward piece of business, " he said, "and I had much ratherit had not fallen so; but I suppose it must be done. "

Still Manners vouchsafed no reply, and his silence added to thebaron's discomfiture. 

For a long time neither of them spoke. The baron wiped theperspiration from his brow and tried to frame together the wordswhich proved so troublesome to utter, while Manners sat, ill at ease, waiting to hear the worst. 

"Most young men fall in love, " exclaimed the knight at length. Hejerked the words out rather than spoke them, but they were at leastuttered, and feeling that he had broken the ice he heaved a sigh ofrelief. 

"I did so myself, " he innocently rambled on, "more than once. " He hadalmost said "and once too many, " but he paused with the words uponhis lips, and the recollection that Lady Maude might not be far awaydecided him to leave the remark unexpressed. 

"I have done so, too, once and for ever, " exclaimed Manners, musteringup courage enough to break into the subject at a stroke. He feltthat it must all come out now, and the sooner it was over the betterpleased would he be; therefore he plunged headlong into it, hoping, perchance, to fire the baron with a little of the same enthusiasm withwhich he was himself possessed. 

"It has been my good fortune, " he continued boldly, "to fall deeply inlove with your daughter, your Dorothy--and she has not spurned me. "

"No, Doll is a rare girl, a bonnie girl, and a good one, too. I loveher better than I love myself, and forsooth, young man, we valueourselves at no sorry figure neither. "

"I wonder whoever saw her that did not love her, " said thedeeply-smitten swain sententiously. 

They were both engaged in conversation now in common sympathy, and theeyes of the old knight sparkled with joy as he thought of his darlingand her many charms. 

"She is the light of my life, " he replied. "See, there she goes, withher bewitching grace, " and he caught hold of Manners and drew him intothe recess of the oriel window and pointed out where Dorothy and hersister were talking together on the green. 

"Margaret is to wed Sir Thomas Stanley this autumn, I hear, " venturedthe esquire. 

"Yes--and Dorothy is to be wedded this winter also, " replied the baronas he heard the partner of his joys pass again outside the door. 

"This winter!" echoed Manners in blank dismay. "Dorothy to be weddedthis winter! To whom, I pray?"

"To Sir Edward Stanley. "

Manners staggered back against the wall as though he had been smittenby some invisible hand. His face blanched, his lips quivered, and hegasped for very breath. This was news indeed, far beyond his worstanticipations, and he was almost crushed by the blow. 

The baron watched him with a feeling akin to dismay. He hated hisunpleasant task, and half regretted the promise he had made Sir ThomasStanley. He pitied the unfortunate esquire who stood before him, andsincerely blamed himself for accepting the business, and the dame forthrusting it upon him. 

Manners soon rallied, much to Sir George's relief; and the two satdown together at the little table. The baron, tried to express hissympathy with him in his great disappointment which had just come uponhim, but his words were clumsy, and afforded no relief. 

"It is not yet quite decided upon, is it?" asked the young man. 

"We expect Sir Edward now at any time, " the knight replied. 

"But, Sir George, Dorothy has plighted her troth to me. "

"Ah, we know it; Margaret has told us of it. 'Twas a foolish thing todo. "

"And Father Philip blessed the match, " pursued Manners. 

"But she has been promised to Edward Stanley, " was the quiet reply, "and a Vernon's promise is never broken, never. "

The two remained silent awhile. Sir George had made wonderful progresswith his mission of late--a fact due to the knowledge that Lady Vernonwas standing just outside the door; and before either of them spokeagain she entered the room, and making a formal courtesy to thevisitor, she advanced to her husband's side. 

"You have told Master Manners, I suppose?" she inquired in a harsh, unfeeling voice that stabbed the lover's heart by every word. 

"Yes, my dear, " he replied, looking as if he were ashamed of the wholebusiness, "I have told him all. "

"But surely you cannot understand Dorothy's feelings in the----"

"Dorothy will do as we desire, " interrupted Lady Maude, severely. 

"Do you really love your daughter, Sir George?" asked Manners, indesperation. "Then I conjure you by all the affection towards her youpossess, that in this, matter you consult her happiness. I cannot livewithout her, and she will fade away like a tender flower if you baulkher choice. "

"Do I love her?" repeated Sir George, impatiently. "Aye, that I do; amI not her father?"

"Hush, Sir George, " interrupted Lady Vernon, "Master Manners isoutrageous. I will talk with him, and you can depart an you wish it. "

Nothing loth, Sir George turned to go; glad to wash his hands of thewhole affair, and feeling thoroughly ashamed that it had ever fallento his lot to treat a guest in so inhospitable a fashion. 

"I am sorry, Master Manners, " continued the dame, as she watched theretreating figure of her lord, "that Sir George has played his part soill. It had been kinder on his part had he introduced the subject inanother way, but he is ill-fitted for matters of business. "

Manners had heard the rustle of her gown outside the door some timebefore Lady Vernon had entered, and he shrewdly suspected that she hadbeen listening to the conversation. The manner in which she re-openedthe subject at once convinced him that his conjecture was right, andknowing the integrity of the baron he was ready to defend him. 

"Sir George meant well enough, " he said. 

"Come now, Master Manners, that was bravely said, " replied the lady. "He has a kind heart, but it is apt to be too kind at times, and thenI have to go over it all again; you understand?"

"Perfectly, but Lady Vernon----"

"And you will perceive that we are within our rights in disposing ofDorothy as we wish, " she continued. "Of course, she will consent to itin time. "

"Never, " returned Manners, stoutly. 

"You are but a youth, therefore you are bold, but mark my words, youngman, you will have less faith and more caution as your years come on. "

"Will you accept Dorothy's choice?" asked Manners bluntly, disregarding the last remark. 

"Do you suppose, Master Manners, " replied Lady Vernon, "that Dorothywill withstand us? We are all agreed in the matter. "

"All except Dorothy, maybe. "

"And _she_ will soon----"

"I tell you never!" he replied hotly. 

Lady Vernon laughed; a light, incredulous sort of laugh, which onlytended to enstrange them farther still. 

"There are considerations of which you appear to be ignorant, sir, "she replied, "but I am not willing to wound your feelings. "

"That may be, and yet, perchance, there may be somewhat to be said onthe other side, " he calmly rejoined. 

Lady Vernon fixed her eyes upon him, astounded at his presumption, but instead of crushing him under an avalanche of her wrath, sherestrained herself, and broke into another superficial burst oflaughter. 

"Pooh, " she said, "you are simply an esquire, and he is a knight. "

"And he a knight, " echoed Dorothy's lover, scornfully. "As if he wereaught the better for that. "

"A knight is a knight, " replied the lady stiffly; "and he is the sonof an earl. "

"And I, by the favour of fortune, am the nephew of an earl; and, moreover, Dorothy and I have plighted our troth together. "

"Then you were over bold. "

"I might accept your decision for myself, Lady Vernon, " he said;"indeed, I had done so ere now, but Dorothy's happiness is at stake aswell as mine. "

"You accept it perforce, then?"

"Nay, I will abide by Dorothy's decision alone. She shall have theruling of it, and I know what she will say. "

"I must be plain with you, Master Manners, " said Lady Maude, withconsiderable asperity. "It can never, no, never be as you desire. Wehave other designs for Dorothy than that she should marry a soldier offortune. Her portion, " she continued, curling her lips in scorn, "is ahalf of the whole estate of Haddon, which, you must admit, is no smalldowry; and what have you to set against that? Your lands would notmaintain yourself alone, " and, having delivered herself thus, she casta triumphant glance upon the young man who stood before her. 

"I may win renown, " he quickly replied. 

"You possibly might, " she replied, with another contemptuous curl ofher lip, "but that is a shadow, a mere myth. Besides, you can put novalue on fame; you cannot even live upon it. "

"I have a true and loving heart, and a strong arm. "

"Tut, man, " she laughed; "so has every beggar. Prithee, now, as amatter of business, what have you to offer? Nothing. "

"What! Surely you do not want to barter her away?" cried Manners. "Whytalk of business?"

"Certainly not, " she replied; "but it is our duty to make as good analliance for her as we can. You ought to perceive that this is to heradvantage, and if you care for her welfare as much as you would haveus believe, you would help us to secure it for her, instead of placingher in a position which can only breed discontent and mischief, " andwithout giving Manners time to reply she swept proudly out of the roomand left him alone with his sorrow. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE TROTHPLIGHT. 

 Yet even now it is good to think, While my few poor varlets grumble and drink, In my desolate hall where the fires sink; Of _Dorothy_ sitting glorious there, In glory of gold and glory of hair, And glory of glorious face most fair; Likewise to-night I make good cheer, Because this battle draweth near, For what have I to love or fear?

 W. MORRIS (adapted). 

John Manners sought out Dorothy as soon as the interview wasconcluded, and he was fortunate enough to find her alone. 

Poor Dorothy; she had long expected this meeting, and she had triedto prepare herself to face it. Her love, subjected to such a terriblestrain, had come like gold out of the refining fire. It had grownstronger and better, and as she saw her lover emerge from the room sherealised for the first time how much she really loved him. 

The tale was soon told, and as he poured into her ears the unwelcometidings her tender heart was lacerated by each successive word. 

"And now, my own sweet Dorothy, " he concluded, "you know all. I havetold thee all the pitiful story. Would to God it had been a pleasanttale I had to tell thee, but alas! I have told thee but the truth. "

He looked fondly into her face, and wondered how often he would bepermitted to see it more. It was deadly pale, and her lips quiveredagain as she endeavoured to keep them tightly closed. 

"John, " she murmured, "in any matter but this I should obey them;but--but----" She broke down under the mental strain. It was aterrible struggle between conflicting affections, and, unable tosustain it, she would have fallen in a faint upon the ground had notthe strong arms of her lover supported her. 

Manners laid her gently down upon the bank and sprinkled some waterupon her, for they were on the slopes of the Wye, and in a few momentsshe mastered her feelings and opened her eyes. 

"I am dizzy, " she apologetically exclaimed, as she saw the form of herbeloved bending over her. "I shall be better soon. "

She fulfilled her prediction quickly, and when he would have led herback into the Hall she begged him to wait. 

"Nay, nay, John, " she said, "the Lady Maude will soon devise a planfor separating us, but let us remain together while we may. "

"But, Doll, you are ill, " he exclaimed, "and I must take good care ofthee. "

"I should be worse were I severed from thee, " she sweetly replied, "and, John, I have somewhat to tell thee. "

"Speak on then, sweet one. "

"You will be true to me, John, whatever happens?" she asked. 

She was timid to approach the subject, and blushed deeply at the soundof her own sweet voice. She had more than half a mind to take thewords back lest they should strike a single pang into his heart, butthey were spoken, and before she could enter into any explanation, hehad bent down and kissed her. 

"My precious darling!" he passionately exclaimed. "I never couldforget thee; thy name is written on my heart; I shall never cease tolove thee. The saints forfend me, Doll. I were a miscreant indeed wereI to play traitor to thy love. "

"I shall trust you, John, " she replied, bestowing upon him a look ofundisguised affection; "I do trust thee; I shall be happy in thy love. Whatever trouble comes I shall be happy, because I shall know yourheart is trusty and true. "

"That it shall be, Doll, " he cried, "a right trusty heart--though theydo make thee wed Edward Stanley. "

"John!" she exclaimed quickly, flushing scarlet again, "have I notgiven my troth to thee? They shall not force me into it. You can trustme. "

"O, Doll. My love, my darling, it would break my heart to give theeup; but I must do it for the sake of thy happiness. "

Poor heart, he spoke but the truth, but he spoke it as bravely as hecould. 

"Hush, John, " Dorothy hastily broke in; "you must not say suchthings. "

"Alas! you little know, my sweet one, to what misery you would consignyourself if you proved staunch to me, " he continued. "This fragileform was not made to suffer, but to recline in ease, " he added, as hegazed fondly at the graceful form of the maiden. 

"I have recked the cost, " she simply replied. "You do not doubt me, doyou, John?" she asked, looking up into his troubled face. 

"Doubt thee, no;" he replied, "but I would save thee from a host ofsorrows. "

Dorothy held her head down in silence, and seeing that she did notanswer. Manners continued. 

"I must be frank with you, Doll. The husband they have chosen thee maybe an earl in time to come, and is a Derby to boot. He is rich, andmayhap he may love thee, too, and I--and I----"

"Stop, John, stop, " she commanded. "Would you thus trifle with mylove? I have seen in thee a noble heart, a kind heart, a loving heart. I have refused many before thee. I have just refused one lord, andI shall refuse the other. You would not so dispraise yourself but todissuade me; but you have yet to learn the constancy of a maiden'slove. "

"Are you resolved?" he asked, almost choked by the feelings of joy herwords had caused. 

"I am, " she firmly replied; "I shall brave the worst, and be happy inyour love. What more can I desire?"

Manners was too much overcome to speak. He could only weaklyarticulate a fervent "God bless you, my love;" but if Dorothy haddesired anything more to prove the intensity of his feelings, shewould have found it had she looked to see it in his eyes. 

While matters had been progressing thus at Haddon, Sir Henry de laZouch had been gradually improving in health, until by now he hadfound himself almost as well as he had been of yore, and he hadintimated that he was fast getting ready to return to Ashby Castle. 

His passion for Dorothy had not abated one whit, and he was deeplymortified to find how rapidly Manners had been wooing and winning themaiden. 

Yet, although his suit had been rebuffed at every point, he wasnot discouraged. Indeed, had his other qualities equalled hisperseverance, he had richly merited a full and good reward; but, unfortunately, this was his only redeeming trait, and the baseness ofthat motive which prompted it poisoned that very virtue too. 

He was neither dejected nor cast down, because he felt that he hadwithin his power a mode of wooing the maiden which, were he but touse it, could not fail to insure complete success. The plan had itsdrawbacks, to be sure, but it was the only one at his command, andeven as he lay upon the sick bed, tossing in agony from side to side, he was considering whether or no he should carry it out. When he wasbetter he determined to put it into force upon the first opportunity, but every relapse undid his resolution, and made him pay attention tohis conscience, which bade him reject the idea. 

As a compromise he determined at last to ask Dorothy again for herhand, and he availed himself of an early opportunity of doing this. Heused all his persuasive eloquence in vain. He pointed to his haggardface, and told her that a refusal would inevitably complete the workthat Manners had begun, but she was firm; and seeing that nothingwould shake her resolution, he resolved to put his plan into operationimmediately upon his recovery. 

It was a deeply-laid scheme, the scheme of a villain, and it revealedits author in its proper light. As he communicated his plan to hispage, when the latter paid him his final visit, his face glowed withsatisfaction, and he imagined the chagrin his dupes would feel whenthey found themselves within his power. 

It was necessary, in the first place, to throw Manners off hisguard, and, smarting under the humiliation of his defeat, De la Zouchdetermined that his victor should also come within the reach ofhis net; and, as he witnessed the growing familiarity which existedbetween his rival and Dorothy, he was more than ever determinedto have vengeance upon him, and more jubilant at the prospect ofattaining the consummation of his wish. 

This was the motive which caused his readiness to meet Manners as afriend. He rightly judged that Manners once put off the scent, therest would follow his example, so he appeared to accept Dorothy'srefusal with a better grace, as a thing inevitable; and once face toface again with his gallant foe, nothing could exceed the extravaganceof the language he employed to convince him that he regretted thefollies of the past and to instil into his mind that he wished for thefuture to be counted as his friend. 

It is a noticeable feature about villains that they almost alwaysoverreach themselves at some point or other--in story-books theyalways do--and to this characteristic De la Zouch proved no exception, for the very intensity of the words he chose, and the excessiveflattery he employed, instead of gaining their object, aroused inJohn Manners' mind a feeling of suspicion of which he could in nowisedispossess himself. He would have communicated his fears to Dorothy, but he feared lest she should misjudge him and interpret it as anebulition of jealousy, and there was none other except his friendCrowleigh in whom he could confide. Unwilling, however, to woundthe susceptibilities of De la Zouch, who, after all, might have beenactuated by the best of motives, he fairly met all his advances, andthough he was all along mistrustful of his intentions, yet he wascareful that Sir Henry should perceive no signs of it. 

Lady Vernon soon gave Manners a hint that his visit to Haddon mightterminate at any time he chose; but, although wounded in spirit by herwords, he was in no great hurry to depart from Dorothy's side, and SirGeorge, eager to make amends for his dame's shortcomings, and ashamedthat the traditional hospitality of his mansion should be so roughlycontradicted while he was the lord of Haddon, appeared most anxious toprolong the visit, and endeavoured to make the enjoyment of his guestas complete as it could possibly be, the circumstances being dulyconsidered. 

To the surprise of them all, De la Zouch added his request to thebaron's, declaring that he and Manners would depart together in a fewdays, and if his late antagonist did not offer any serious oppositionto the plan, he intended to entertain him for a short time at Ashby, adding that he had already given commands that the castle should beprepared for their reception. 

The request was couched in such a manner that Manners could do noother than accept it, but he immediately resolved to curtail his visitinto Leicestershire as much as he possibly could, and he felt that itwould be a relief to him when the visit was concluded. 

The days swiftly passed; all too quickly for the two lovers. SirThomas Stanley had sent a messenger to inform them that his brotherhad met with an accident, and was too ill to travel then, and hefeared he would be obliged to return to Haddon alone; but the letterbrought the unwelcome news to Dorothy that Edward Stanley would comeand claim her as his bride before the year had passed. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE PLOT IN PROGRESS. 

 His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire; Yet lines of thought upon his cheek, Did deep design and counsel speak. 

 SCOTT. 

It was with mingled feelings of sorrow, suspicion, and gladness thatJohn Manners received news from Sir Henry de la Zouch, who had goneover to his castle some days before, that he was coming back upon themorrow to escort his guests to Ashby. 

Sir Thomas Stanley had returned to Haddon, and though he was wellsatisfied, upon the whole, with the result of his mission, yet heclearly perceived the real state of affairs, and was far too astutenot to make strenuous efforts to alter their course. 

He had interposed himself as much as possible between Dorothy andher forbidden lover, and had succeeded in some degree in keepingthem apart. He might, however, have spared himself the trouble, for, although he prevented their meeting on some occasions, yet love wasconqueror in the end, and with Lettice as a trusty helpmeet, the twolovers found ways and means by which to see each other of which henever dreamed. 

Sir Thomas was too much of a gentleman to affront Manners, as he hadbeen secretly urged to do, but he made no secret of his opinion thatit would be a relief to him when the time came for the visitors todepart. 

True to his word, Sir Henry arrived at Haddon on the following day, bringing with him an invitation for Sir Thomas Stanley and Crowleighto accompany him on his return. 

Sir Thomas refused it, as indeed he was expected to do, but SirEverard Crowleigh, glad to be able to bear his friend company, promptly accepted the offer, and Manners began to look upon theprospect of his stay at Ashby with a little more hopefulness. 

Sir George Vernon was too hospitable a host to let even De la Zouchdepart again upon the self-same day upon which he had arrived. Hewould not tolerate the idea for a single moment; there must be acarousal and a dance at night in honour of the departing guests, andthen they would be at liberty to depart upon the first grey streaks ofdawn if they were so minded. 

De la Zouch, well aware that the King of the Peak was the soulof hospitality itself, had calculated upon the offer, and at onceaccepted it; while the baron, not content with what he had alreadydone, when the morrow came, drew the designing Stanley with himselfinto his private room, and, under the pretext of taking counsel withhim, kept him by his side, leaving the way open for Manners to have afarewell afternoon with Dorothy. 

De la Zouch proposed a ride, and as there appeared to be littleprospect of enjoying undisturbed peace at Haddon, the two lovers fellin with the suggestion, and very soon after the mid-day meal they met, booted and spurred, at the gate of the hall. 

"Aye, aye, there, " hailed a voice, as Manners was helping Dorothy offthe riding-stone into the saddle, "whither away so gaily?"

"Aye, Everard, " replied his friend, as he turned round and saw who itwas that called. "Hurry up, we are off for a ride. "

"Shall I come, too?" he inquired, as he hastened up and stood besidethem. 

"Do, " returned Dorothy. "Make haste, though, for time is precious withus now. "

"I will not keep you waiting, fair Mistress Dorothy, " he gallantlyresponded; "I will follow thee anon. Which way am I to come, Bakewell, Cromford, or which?"

"Oh, Cromford, " replied Sir Henry quickly. "See how restive my horseis, he will bolt off if I try to hold him in much longer. Are weready? Let us go then; time is short, remember, " and giving the reinto his steed he started off at a good pace, whilst the others followedquickly in his wake. 

It was a beautiful day, and the scenery around was so majesticallygrand that even its familiarity did not detract from its beauty in theeyes of the little party as it rode laughingly by. The early leaveswere just beginning to drop from off the parent stems; the ferns andbracken, which grew in abundance on either side of the road, were justassuming their peculiar fading, golden hue, whilst the hardier leaveswere just beginning to bedeck themselves in the full glory of theirrich autumnal tints. 

"This is beautiful, " exclaimed Dorothy, enthusiastically, as she gazedenraptured at the rich variety of form and colour which met them atevery turn. "Look at those cliffs. It is lovely, it is grand. "

They had just passed the little hamlet of Matlock Bath, and wereapproaching Cromford. There were no stone walls then to hide from vieweven the smallest portion of the gorgeous picture. From the roadto the Derwent there sloped a narrow strip of marshy meadow, whichcovered itself with a superabundance of luxurious tall grasses andtough bracken. Beyond the stream there rose, standing straight up bythe water's edge, a wall of jagged and scarred rock, overgrown withtrees and climbing foliage, which was faithfully mirrored in theplacid water below. The scene could hardly fail to appeal to theirsense of beauty. 

Manners avowed that he thought it the fairest spot on earth, and De laZouch, not to be outdone in gallantry, added that the presence of sofair a maiden as Dorothy Vernon in the midst of so much natural beautymade a picture a better than which he never desired to see. 

"And, after all, fair Dorothy, " he concluded, "I wot that it is butthe reflection of thine own sweet form and peerless grace. "

Dorothy frowned. She did not care for compliments from Sir Henry dela Zouch; she always feared them, for they generally had a stingsomewhere, and she had noticed that, as a rule, they were followed bysomething more or less unpleasant. 

"Sir Everard has not come yet, " she exclaimed, turning round in hersaddle, "perhaps he is not coming after all?"

"He is sure to follow us, " replied Manners. "Maybe he has beendelayed, and yet we have come slowly. Hark! I hear the ring of hoofsupon the road even now. "

They halted to await their companion, but they soon discovered, as thesound of the galloping grew rapidly more and more distinct, that thehorseman was advancing towards them from the opposite direction. 

"He is hindered, surely, " exclaimed De la Zouch, who heartily wishedhe was stating the truth, "and it will soon be time for us to turn ourfaces again towards the Hall. "

"Not just yet, Sir Henry, " Dorothy quickly replied; "but you may; andyou will. "

"Not yet, eh! Then let us have a race along this lane, " suggestedDe la Zouch, evading the hint and pointing to a long lane almostcompletely overarched with the massive branches of the overhangingtrees which grew on either side. 

Dorothy looked at Manners appealingly. 

"What say you, Doll?" he inquired. "You shall determine. "

"Nay, you decide. "

"To that clump of trees, " interposed De la Zouch. 

"Well, if Dorothy does not object--"

"Not I, in truth, " she interrupted. 

"Away we go, then, " replied Manners. "There and back at once?" heasked. 

"No, only there, " replied Sir Henry, ill-concealing a malicious grin. "It will be a long, long time before you come back this way, I trow, "he added under his breath. 

"But we are not yet placed, " said Dorothy's lover, as De la Zouch wasabout to start away. "We two must fall in the rear, Sir Henry. "

"Nay, I am equally as well mounted as you, " returned the maiden. "Wewill run upon our merits, or I shall withdraw. "

In a few minutes they were careening along the course in gallantstyle, as nearly as possible all three abreast, but as they neared thetrees which formed the winning mark, Sir Henry fell behind and leftthe other two to finish the exciting race alone. 

"Curse them, a murrain on them!" he muttered, as he pulled his horseto a standstill; "where can the fellows be?"

His objurgation might have been heard, for no sooner were the wordsout of his mouth than he saw, rising up from the brushwood, the men ofwhom he had just spoken in such uncomplimentary terms. 

Burdened as he was with anxiety for the successful issue of his plot, and fearful lest at the last stage it should miscarry and snatch awaythe prize for which he had struggled so long, and which already seemedto be within his grasp, De la Zouch was in a terrible ferment of hopeand fear. 

"The villains, " he muttered, as he sat still in his saddle impatientlywatching; "why don't they move? It will be too late in a minute. I'llthrash every mother's son of them when we get back to Ashby, that Iwill. Dear me! what a fool I am to forget the signal;" and putting hishand to his mouth he blew a loud shrill whistle through his fingers. 

Manners and Dorothy had just raced up together to the trees, andhearing the unusual sound that their companion made, they turnedround at the same instant to see how much they were before him, and toascertain the meaning of the noise. Just at this juncture, in answerto the signal of their lord, De la Zouch's hirelings rushed throughthe already prepared gaps in the tall hedges and fell upon the lovers, taking them completely by surprise. 

Dorothy was quickly unhorsed with no more roughness than her ownresistance necessitated, but it was not so with her lover. ThoughManners had nothing to defend himself with, except the stock of hisriding-whip, yet he gave so good an account of himself, and wieldedhis paltry weapon to so much purpose that he quickly freed himself, and rushed to aid poor Doll. This purpose, however, he failed toaccomplish. The odds were ten to one, but even then it was for sometime an open question whether the one would not prevail over the ten. All his skill was brought into play. He laid about him right and leftuntil his weapon broke, and then, undismayed, he lunged out with theremnant, and succeeded in wresting a bludgeon from one of his injuredopponents, and plunged into the fray with renewed vigour. 

In spite of his efforts, however, he was unable to rescue Dorothy. Having once got her into their possession the men were determinedto keep her, and she was borne away from the contest ineffectuallystruggling with her captors, who, having retired to a safe distance, awaited with their quarry until Manners himself was captured too. 

De la Zouch sat aghast at this exhibition of his rival's prowess. Whatever the cost might be it was imperative that Manners should notescape to tell the tale at Haddon, and he alternately groaned andcursed each time he witnessed his followers quail and fall beneath theterrific blows of their antagonist. He had come, he thought, preparedfor any contingency, but it appeared as though his force was by nomeans strong enough to achieve the desired end. 

Manners himself, suspicious of De la Zouch, as he all along had been, perceived at the outset the trap into which he had been led, and now, finding it useless to attempt Dorothy's rescue any longer, and feelingthe first approach of weariness come warningly over him, set spursto his horse and galloped back again towards Sir Henry de la Zouch, intent on wreaking a full vengeance upon him, and at the same timedetermined to make an effort to escape in order to discover aid bywhich to rescue his betrothed. 

"Villain!" he hissed, "thou shalt pay dearly for this. "

De la Zouch did not wait to meet the overpowering fury of his foe. He no longer marvelled at the result of the tournament. He had seenenough of Manners' prowess already to have much faith left in his ownpowers of defense. To him distance lent enchantment to the view, soturning his horse sharply round he galloped away, bidding Manners dohis worst. 

It would have fared ill with the knight of Ashby had his foe but oncereached within arm's length of him; but Fortune, after wavering aboutas if uncertain which way to make up its mind, declared itself atlast upon the side of villainy, and Manners was stretched low upon theground by a stone hurled at him by one of his assailants. 

With his fall Dorothy's last chance of escape was taken from her. 

De la Zouch heard the groan of his injured foe, and turning his faceround to ascertain its meaning, he was just in time to see his rivaldrop from his saddle upon the road, where he was quickly surroundedamid a considerable show of bravery by the minions of De la Zouch towhom he had just given such a terrible exhibition of his skill. 

"You cowardly knaves, " cried that worthy, "secure him ere he escapesagain. "

Not a man stirred, for Manners had inspired them with so wholesome adread of the power of his arm that, although he was sorely wounded, noone was willing to venture within his reach. 

"Secure him, I say, " imperiously repeated Sir Henry, who, from hissafe position on horseback, could well afford to ridicule their fearsand give his commands with confidence. 

Manners with difficulty managed to raise himself upon his elbow, and he looked so fierce and desperate that the solitary man who hadadvanced towards him retreated with dismay. 

"By St. George, seize him, sirrah, " exclaimed the knight, springingoff his saddle in high dudgeon. "You are all cowards together. "

"Seize him, do you say, " returned the man, insolently; "seize him, do you say? Seize him yourself, then, for I vow I have had more thanenough of it already. He fights like a dragon; see here, " and theman bared his arm and showed a number of bruises upon it. "Now then, master, " he continued, "seize him yourself, say I, for I will haveno more to do with the affair;" and to this his companions sullenlymurmured assent. 

"A woman would have less fear than thee, " returned the knightcontemptuously, as he glanced at the arm held out before him. "Why, Ihave fought for hours after being grievously wounded in the fray. "

It had been more to Sir Henry's mind to have struck the man down tothe ground for his insolence, and this he felt strongly impelledto do, but seeing the threatening aspect of the man's companions herestrained his fury, promising himself that his punishment should losenothing by the fact of it being reserved to another and a safer time. It was with difficulty that he had contented himself with returningso mild an answer, but the man's retort drove him at once beyond thebounds of prudence and patience, and made him utterly reckless. 

"Mayhap you have, " returned the man incredulously, "but I'll warrantme it was no fault of thine. You showed us some of your skill justnow. "

"I will prove it, " shouted the knight, furiously, and, suiting theaction to the word, he seized hold of the nearest weapon, a stout ashstick, and advancing towards the dazed and bleeding esquire, he dealthim a blow on the head which stretched him insensible upon the turf. 

"Coward!" cried the man, springing forward from among his companions. "You are the coward. I will be no party to such a cold-blooded murderas this, " and his bosom swelled with indignation as he turned round tohis companions and pointed to where Manners lay. 

"Who says I am a coward? Who dares to speak such insolence?" demandedDe la Zouch, trembling all over with rage. 

"I do, and I repeat it, " replied the other, bending over the prostrateform of his late antagonist. 

For a moment Sir Henry stood in speechless amazement at suchunlooked-for presumption, and then suddenly raising his weapon, hebrought it down upon his offending servant, and stretched him besidethe object of his sympathy. 

"Who says I am a coward now?" he fiercely asked, turning upon theabashed companions of the latest victim of his temper. 

Whatever the others thought, they wisely held their peace, and, terrified and cowed by the lesson their lord had taught them, theysilently raised the two inanimate bodies, and, according to theirinstructions, proceeded to rejoin Dorothy and her guard ere they begantheir journey back to the castle at Ashby. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXII. 

ON A FALSE SCENT. 

 I can counterfeit the deep tragedian! Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble, and start at wagging of a straw. Pretending deep suspicion; ghastly looks Are at my service like enforced smiles, And both are ready in their offices, At any time to grace my stratagems. 

 SHAKESPEARE. 

Dorothy Vernon had impatiently awaited the conclusion of thecontest, and the prodigious amount of faith she had in her lover'scapabilities, coupled with what she had already witnessed of thefight, led her to hope that he would yet return victorious to deliverher. 

She had ceased to struggle ere the victors returned, partly becauseof the hope with which she had deluded herself, and partly becauseher attempts had only wearied her without bringing her any nearer tosuccess; but at the first glimpse of the slowly approaching companyshe broke away from her too trustful captors and fled precipitatelytowards the advancing party. 

"Let me go to him; is he hurt?" she cried, as one of her guardiansovertook her and pulled her to a standstill, and starting forwardagain she left a fragment of her dress between the man's fingers, andhastened on again until she reached her lover's side. 

"Speak, John, " she exclaimed in piteous tones, as she gazed upon hispallid face and livid form. "Speak just one word to me. "

But Manners did not speak. Thoroughly stunned by the blows he hadreceived, he lay quite unconscious in the position in which he hadbeen placed, and he was so weakened by the loss of blood from hiswounds that his immediate return to consciousness was exceedinglyproblematical. He lay deaf, and apparently dead, whilst Dorothypleaded in vain for a word from his lips. 

"Just one word, " she repeated, pathetically. 

"Poor Lady, " exclaimed Sir Henry's page, who was in charge of theparty. "Don't take it to heart so much; he will come round soon, andbe himself again. Nay, touch her not, " he commanded, as one of the menwas about to take her away, "she will do no harm. "

"He is dead, " she sobbed, and ere she could be assured that herconjecture was wrong she fainted away, and was gently laid besideher lover, while they were borne swiftly and silently, by sequesteredroads, from the scene of the adventure. 

Sir Henry watched them departing till a turn in the road hid them fromview, and then, bethinking himself of his position, he mounted hissteed and rode rapidly away, feeling immensely relieved that, afterall, he had proved successful. 

A few minutes in the saddle sufficed him, and then dismounting, hetook of his hat and belaboured it well with the stock end of his whip. 

He satisfied himself at length, and ceasing from his efforts in thatdirection he laid it on the ground and surveyed the effect. 

It looked battered indeed, and evidently well pleased with the result, the knight set busily to work upon his clothes. He carefully tore themhere and there with a sharp-pointed piece of wood, while to completethe deception, he spoiled the appearance of his attire by daubing itfreely with dirt. 

"I trow that will be enough, " he murmured, as ceasing his labours hecomplacently gazed upon the transformation he had effected; "but no!"he added, "I had best be on the safe side, " and he gently scratchedhis hands to give himself the appearance of having passed through along and stern struggle. 

"A bruise or two would improve my appearance considerably, " he added, "but then bruises hurt and are apt to turn awkward; I think I mightsafely spare myself the pain; but I might, at all events, break mywhip-stock and carry the end of it back;" and having settled thesepoints to his own satisfaction, he mounted his saddle afresh, andsetting spurs to his horse he never drew rein until long after he hadpassed out of the lane, and was well on the high road to Haddon. 

As he neared the vicinity of the Hall he proceeded to put intopractice what yet remained unfinished of his disguise. He had treatedhis own person, and now he turned his attention to the faithful steedwhich had carried him often and well. 

There was no time to waste. He had lost much precious time already. Hewould have found little time in which to be sentimental had he beenso inclined, but such an idea never entered into his head, and pullinghis jack-knife out of his pocket, he opened the blade and stabbed thehorse in the shoulder. 

As previously related, De la Zouch had thought of ornamenting himselfwith a few slight bruises, but he had decided to forego whateveradvantages might accrue to him from such a course of conduct, butnow the matter was decided for him in a manner which he had neverconsidered. 

It had never flashed upon the heated brain of the malignant knightthat wounding a horse was a very delicate operation to perform, and inhis reckless hurry he had never taken into account that such conductwould be attended with any danger, or he would have proceeded toaccomplish his design in a more cautious fashion; and it was not untilthe horse kicked out after the first blow that Sir Henry de la Zouchbecame suddenly aware of the danger of his position. He had not thepower to stay the second thrust, and before he could retreat out ofdanger he was sent sprawling into the hedge bottom. 

Fortunately, the effects of the blow were considerably diminished, inasmuch as its greatest force was already spent ere De la Zouch wasstruck. Had it not been for this circumstance he would have comeoff ill indeed, but even as it was he was sorely injured, and layinsensible in the place where he had fallen until he opened his eyesat dusk and found himself being lifted up. 

"Where am I?" he gasped, as he mechanically rubbed his eyes and gazedaround. "I am hurt. "

"Lie still awhile, " returned Crowleigh, for he it was who stood overhim. "You will be yourself again directly, " and raising his horn tohis lips he blew a loud, clear note upon the still evening air. 

"What does that portend?" asked the conscience-stricken andmistrustful knight. He feared that he was about to be carried off toanswer for his misdeeds. 

"There will be help soon, " said Crowleigh. "Lie still, for you arehurt. You will be better by-and-by. Drink this, " and he filled hishorn with water and offered it to him. 

De la Zouch took the water and drank it off. It appeared to do himgood, for he rapidly rallied, and the reassuring words of Crowleighhad a magical effect in clearing his brow and helping on his recovery. 

"Am I much hurt?" he inquired with a look of intense agony upon hisbrow. 

"Bruised and stunned, I think, that is all. Ha, here they come;" and, as he suddenly stopped speaking, the sound of the replying hornscould be distinctly heard, and within a few minutes, from differentquarters, over walls and fences, the horsemen came riding in by onesand twos until at last there numbered a full dozen. 

"Oh!" groaned De la Zouch, loudly, "it is painful, cannot you relieveme?"

"Where is Sir George Vernon?" inquired Sir Everard; "have none of youseen him of late?"

No one had, but they had all blown their horns, so he was sure to bein soon. 

De la Zouch shuddered at the mention of the King of the Peak--he washardly himself again as yet, but he was fast rallying, and by the timethat the baron arrived he was quite ready to meet him. 

"Heigho! found at last;" exclaimed the baron, as he made his waythrough the group. "But whom have we here; tush, where is my Doll?"

De la Zouch, for answer, began to play his game, and he only repliedto the query with a deceitful and prolonged groan. 

"Where's my Dorothy?" impatiently repeated the baron, disregarding theagonised look which met his gaze. 

"There--miles on, " gasped Sir Henry, jerking his thumb over hisshoulder, and pointing along the road by which he had just travelled;and then, as if the effort had been too much for him, he fell backpanting upon the turf. 

Sir George Vernon waited for no more, but hastily bestriding hissaddle, he galloped away, bidding the others disperse again upon theirsearch. Only Sir Thomas Stanley and one solitary retainer remained, and these from very different reasons; the former because he suspectedfoul play, and wished for the immediate future to have De la Zouchunder his own eye; and the latter, much against his will, wasconstrained to tarry behind to help the unfortunate nobleman back toHaddon. 

"Twenty nobles for the man who finds my Dorothy, " shouted the baron ashe rode off, "and twice twenty if there has been any knavery and therogues are caught"; and as the knight of Ashby heard the sound ofthe galloping grow fainter he was fain to own himself so far onlypartially successful, and as he was lifted up to be carried away, heshut his eyes and ruminated on the probable present condition of hiscaptives, and wondered where they were. 

Dorothy soon awoke from the swoon into which she had fallen on seeingthe prostrate condition of her lover, and being graciously permittedby the page to have a considerable amount of liberty, she soon busiedherself in trying to restore Manners to consciousness. 

Eustace, the page in question, had judged her aright. There waslittle fear now of her attempting to escape. Indeed, the thought neverentered into her head; her whole attention was concentrated upon theone effort of restoring her lover to consciousness, and even the heartof the hardest of the rough men around her was softened by the pictureof grief which she presented. 

At last John Manners opened his eyes, and as he caught sight ofDorothy's tear-stained face bending over him, he smiled. His smiledispelled all Dorothy's fears, as the rising sun dispels the morningmist, and through her grief she smiled responsively back upon herlover. 

Eustace witnessed his recovery with a profound sense of relief. It wasin ignorance of the plot that he had been inveigled to obey his lord'sbehests, for though at Haddon De la Zouch had acquainted him witha part of the conspiracy, yet he had grossly deceived him. He hadinformed him that it was Dorothy Vernon's wish to flee to Ashby, and it was not until he was undeceived by the conduct of the maidenherself that the fullness of his master's treachery revealed itself tohim. 

True, he had been engaged on sundry occasions with his master inunworthy and unknightly deeds, but never until now had he perceivedthe outrageous conduct of his lord. His whole nature recoiled from thetask which had been imposed upon him, and nothing but the extreme fearwith which De la Zouch had inspired him during a long acquaintanceshipheld him back from releasing the two lovers on the way, and helpingthem back to Haddon. 

He was not yet courageous enough to pursue such a course, however. Hefelt that his master's eye was upon him, and he could not shake theevil influence off; but, although failing in this particular, he gavethem a practical token of his sympathy by offering them such foodas he possessed--a small flagon of wine, purloined from Sir Henry'sstore, together with a rough rye cake, which were gratefully acceptedas a token of friendship, and before long were thankfully consumed. 

He tendered them gracefully to the captives, and without waiting to bethanked he made his way to the rear, where, forming the men in order, he divided them into two companies, and sending the one on in front, the other half walked a little distance behind, leaving Dorothy andher lover free to converse as they chose. In this order, withoutmolestation or accident, they reached their destination as the greylight of the succeeding morning melted into the clearer light of riperday. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

DARK SUSPICIONS. 

 But oh, that hapless maiden?-- Where may she wander now, whither betake her, From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles? Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now. Or, 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears. What, if in wild amazement and affright Or while we speak, within the direful grasp Of savage hunger. 

 MILTON. 

The liberal offer which the King of the Peak made for the recovery ofhis daughter fired his followers with enthusiasm; for, although theyhad searched willingly enough before, both for the sake of love andduty, yet the tempting reward added to their zeal, and each one setout on his journey anew, feeling pretty confident that very soon hewould be at least twenty nobles the richer. 

As the shades of evening fell, and the twilight began to fade intodarkness, the prospect of finding the maiden grew fainter and fainter, until at length the most hopeful gave up the search and returneddisconsolately to Haddon, hoping that the maiden would be found at theHall, and that with her return the chance of gaining the twenty nobleswas irretrievably lost. Sir George was the last to return, and thejaded condition of his horse told far more plainly than ever wordscould have done how far he had ridden. 

He had hoped, amid fear and trembling, that his lost darling had beenfound. He even half expected her to meet him upon his return; but allhis anticipations were rudely dispelled. Not a trace of her had beenfound, and crushed by the ill news, he retired to the solitude of hisdressing room, with his riding accoutrements unremoved, and gazed fora time meditatively into the empty fireplace, in an agony of fear asto the fate which had befallen her. So far, there was no clue to guidehim; he could not even imagine or suspect any adequate reason for herabsence; he could only ruminate sorrowfully on the fact that she wasgone, and lament his inability to find her. 

He was pondering in this fashion when a gentle knock at the dooraroused him from his reverie. 

"Enter, " he gruffly and impatiently responded. 

The door opened and Lettice entered. Her face was suffused with tears. 

"Well, Lettice, " he inquired in a somewhat gentler voice, "what is it, eh?"

"Is there any news of my mistress?" she tremblingly asked. 

"None, " he replied, "would God there were. "

The maid curtsied and withdrew, but ere she had closed the door, thebaron called her back. 

"Lettice!" he cried. 

She was in the room again in an instant. 

"Is Sir Thomas Stanley here?" he asked. 

"He is with Mistress Margaret, keeping watch in Sir Henry's room, " shereplied. 

"Bid him attend me here, then, " he commanded. Lettice closed the dooragain, and with a feeling of keen disappointment went off to dischargeher mission. 

Sir Thomas received the summons ungraciously, but feeling constrainedto obey it, he bade the maid keep his betrothed company, and tellingher not to let her eyes depart from De la Zouch he hastened to see SirGeorge. 

When the good folk of Haddon awoke next morning, they were summonedto the Hall by the sound of the bell. The news of Dorothy's mysteriousdisappearance had quickly spread, and feeling sure that someannouncement concerning her was about to be made, they quickly flockedinto the courtyard curious to learn the latest tidings. 

They were not disappointed. Sir George repeated his offer of theprevious day, increasing it upon the impulse of the moment to fiftynobles, and he at once despatched a number of his household to renewthe search. 

Meanwhile De la Zouch, to revenge himself upon the baron forhis behaviour to him on the preceding afternoon, continued in awell-feigned semi-unconscious state, and throughout the day hedeclared himself too faint and dazed and altogether unfit to explainDorothy's absence. Although besieged with inquiries from earlymorning, he remained obstinately deaf to all entreaties, nor was ituntil the evening that he professed himself able to understand theirinquiries or returned intelligent answers to their questions. 

"I was almost killed by that treacherous esquire, " he whined, as hebegan his explanation. 

"Never mind that, tell us about Dorothy, " interrupted the baron. 

"I am coming to that, " he replied. "No sooner were we started than Ibegan to suspect mischief. I could see that Manners did not want me. "

"Very like, " interrupted Sir Thomas dryly. 

De la Zouch felt hurt by the unfeeling remark, and he looked hurt, too, but Sir Thomas took no note of it, and the effort was futile. 

"Why did you not come, Crowleigh?" he continued, changing theexpression of his countenance from anger to agony, "then all wouldhave been different. "

It would, indeed, but not as Sir Henry implied. 

"I was hindered, " returned Sir Everard, highly nettled at the other'stone and speech. "My horse fell lame with a stone in his shoe, and Ihad to return. "

"At Cromford he set a pack of knaves upon me, " pursued De la Zouch, with the coolest audacity. "I was almost murdered; I tried to saveher, but what could I do? They were ten to one, and whilst I foughtlike a madman, Dorothy and Manners laughed at me to my face and rodeoff together. "

"You lie, " returned Crowleigh, hotly. 

"Do I?" he replied with a sneer, "then prithee what does this bespeak, and this, and this?" and he showed in turn the scratches and bruiseson the various parts of his body. 

"At Cromford?" inquired the baron. "Did you say at Cromford?"

"Aye, at Cromford, Sir George. I struggled hard to rescue Dorothy forthee, but it was of no avail. No man can combat ten and win. "

"I passed Cromford myself and saw naught of it, nor yet had any of thevillagers, " said the baron severely. 

"And what means this?" continued De la Zouch, pointing to the batteredhat and soiled and torn clothes. "Do not these alone prove that I amspeaking but the truth? Can you doubt me longer now?" and he glancedround indignantly, and acted his part so well that he almost persuadedhimself that he was a much-abused and persecuted person. 

"Did no one witness the struggle, Sir Henry?" asked the scepticalStanley. "Was there not one during all that time passed by?"

"In faith, Sir Thomas, I know not, " he replied. "I found no time tolook. I had work enough to do to save my skin, I assure you. He hastaken her to London. "

"The ingrate!" warmly exclaimed Lady Maude, who had just entered theroom. "And Dorothy is worse than he. Let them go, Sir George, they arenot worth the finding; let them go. "

"Well, 'twas a knightly thing to do, to leave a lady; a right gallantthing, nay by my troth it was, " said Stanley, severely. "And mybrother is on his way here, too; what will Edward say?"

"Poor Sir Henry, we have judged thee hardly, I fear, but we must tryto make amends for it now, " said the dame sympathetically. 

"She _must_ be found; she _shall_, " interrupted the baron, emphasisingthe last word with a stamp of the foot. "Manners shall suffer thoughI--"

"Tush, Sir George, let them go, " interrupted his good lady. "They willwant to return soon enough. "

"Nay, she must be traced and brought home again, " said Stanley. "Edward would die of chagrin else. "

"She shall be found, " repeated the baron decisively. 

De la Zouch had mentally calculated that a slight relapse in hiscondition would probably arouse a wider feeling of sympathy for him, and to secure this end he closed his eyes and gasped for breath, butthe feeling of suspicion was too firmly rooted to be dispelled soeasily, and he opened his eyes again to find his companions as coldand unsympathetic as before. 

"You have not told us all, " exclaimed Crowleigh. "Manners would neverleave his host in so graceless a style, I know. "

"Have I not told thee the truth, Sir George?" De la Zouch meeklyappealed, "and do not these rents and scars bear me out? 'Tis a prettyreward for a noble fight is this, " and he finished with a sigh ofprofound discontent. 

"I believe thee, " returned the baron slowly, to whom the evidence ofthe torn garments and De la Zouch's wounds appeared irresistible. 

"And was not my poor horse lamed by the miscreants, who would havekilled it outright had I not interposed myself?" continued Sir Henry. "Are all these things to count as naught, and is not the absence ofthe lovers itself sufficient proof? What more do you require? Whathave you to disprove these things? Why should you doubt me?" and helooked round in triumph, feeling sure that his reply was perfectlyunanswerable. 

"He speaks the truth, Sir Thomas, " said the old knight. "We owe a debtof gratitude to thee, Sir Henry. "

"I found this knife where De la Zouch was lying, " said Stanleybluntly. "I thought it was his, and so I brought it for him. "

De la Zouch gazed with horror upon the tell-tale weapon, but in aninstant he decided how to parry the thrust. 

"'Tis mine, " he cried, hastily snatching it away. "The villainswrested it from my grasp. "

"And part of the blade was buried in the horse's flank, " pursued SirThomas. "I discovered it there when the horse dashed into the yardcovered with blood and foam. "

"The wretches!" interjected De la Zouch. 

"And yet, Sir Henry, methought the struggle took place at Cromford, and that would be nigh three miles from where I found the knife. "

Sir Henry turned livid with anger, and was at a loss how to reply, when Lady Vernon fortunately came to the rescue. 

"You struggled worthily, sir knight, " said she, "and I would that thecause had been more worthy of thy mettle. We cannot doubt thee more. "

"I cannot contradict thee, " went on Margaret's lover, "but you willshow us the exact scene of the fray, Sir Henry, of course?"

"Assuredly I will, to-morrow--if I am well enough, " he addedcarefully. 

Sir George Vernon noted the answer with displeasure. He was not verystrong in his belief of Sir Henry's innocence as yet, though theevidence in De la Zouch's favour would have been decisive enough forhim had not Stanley shaken it so. 

"Has thy Dorothy forsaken thee, then, Sir George?" asked Crowleighpertinently. 

"Why no, Sir Everard--yes; that is--I cannot say, " he hopelesslyreplied. "It must be so, and yet, no! I cannot believe it either. "

De la Zouch ground his teeth in ill-suppressed rage. Matters had takena decidedly unfavourable turn; he was being sorely worsted, and hewished himself far away. The suspicions of Sir Thomas Stanley werepressing uncomfortably near him, and he found himself in a quandaryhow to evade them. 

"I am doubted, Sir George, I see, " he said angrily. "Lady Vernonis the only one who does me justice. I will go. Your deed shall beblazoned to the world. Is this the boasted hospitality of the King ofthe Peak?--then I disdain it. I shall shake the dust off my feet andshall depart at once, and you will find out when too late that youdrove away in such a scurvy fashion the truest friend you ever had, "and boiling over with well-simulated fury, De la Zouch leapt fromhis chair and passed through the doorway, chuckling to himself at thesuccess of his little scheme to extricate himself. 

He was liberated now from the awkwardness of his false position. Hisday's rest and the attention he had received had done wonders towardseffecting his recovery, and ordering a horse to be saddled, a fewminutes later he passed out of the precincts of the Hall, and hopingthat he would never have occasion to return, he mustered up hisstrength and started out upon a midnight ride to Ashby. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE ESCAPE. 

 But in these cases We still have judgment that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague th' inventor; this evil-handed justice Commends th' ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips. 

 SHAKESPEAKE. 

When Eustace delivered his charges into the hands of the chamberlainat Ashby his task was ended, and he had no further responsibility inthe matter. 

The rest afforded him by the journey had the effect of refreshing JohnManners to a considerable degree, and when he stood before Sir Henry'sdeputy he felt well able to take care of himself and quite capable ofresisting any unwarrantable liberties that they might attempt to takewith him. 

Simon Greenwood, the chamberlain of Ashby Castle, was a fit personto represent his lord. Indeed, had Sir Henry searched throughoutthe length and breadth of the land, he would probably never havediscovered a man more after his own heart, or a servant who would haveso faithfully aided him in the many questionable transactions in whichhe was from time to time engaged. He had grown up on the estate. Hisfather had served the former lord of the manor, and entering intohis master's service when quite a youth, Simon had flourished on thesuccess of his numerous petty stratagems; he had supplanted those whohad been above him, and now, as the right hand of his lord, he wasever eager to distinguish himself in Sir Henry's eyes. 

He glanced at the two prisoners with an air of haughty contempt whichwould have done credit to De la Zouch himself. 

"So you are John Manners, eh?" he drawled out at length. 

Manners looked at him disdainfully, but returned no answer. 

"And you be Miss Dorothy, I suspect, " he went on with a mostunprepossessing leer. 

"You will remember my lord's instructions, Simon, " interrupted thepage. 

"Yes, yes, of course; be off, I know. I am not going to hurt her, "replied the chamberlain. "Well, Mistress Dorothy, I have got to takeparticular care of you, " he continued, ironically. 

"And of Master Manners, too, I hope, " she fearlessly replied, notnoticing the hidden meaning of his remark. "Remember that he is agentleman. "

"Yes, oh yes, " returned the man, with a hideous grin, "we have gotto take particular care of him as well. He will sleep downstairsfor awhile, " and he laughed with a coarse guffaw, again and againrepeated, at his own joke. 

"Enough of this, sirrah, " broke in Manners, sternly. 

"We are not here to amuse you. There will be a host of our friendshere soon to deliver us, so thou had'st best beware of what thoudo'st. "

Simon scowled darkly, but Manners's threat had its effect, and herestrained his temper. 

"I care not, " he replied, "so long as Sir Henry be here. I shall butobey my instructions nor more nor less. "

"And what are they?"

"You shall find that out for yourself in good time. "

"And remember that though I am within your power, I am the nephew ofan earl, and have friends at Court who will avenge me on your lord, "Manners pursued. 

"Then I shall put you in a safe place. "

The man was longing to assert his authority, but the bearing of theprisoner thoroughly cowed him, and he felt helplessly bound to be morecivil to him than he wished. 

"And what about this lady?" asked Manners. 

"Sir Henry's instructions apply equally to her as to you, " he replied. 

"If she is treated ill you shall answer for it, " said Manners, fiercely, "so I bid you look to it that you treat her well. "

"Teach me not, " Simon hastily broke in. "I know what is expectedof me, and, mark me, I shall do it. Captives ought not to be tooconceited, mark that, too, an it please you. "

"Enough, sirrah, cease thy prating. I am no fool. "

"Take him away; take him to the old dungeon, " cried Simon, whosewrath was fast gaining mastery over him; "and mind you double lock thedoor. "

"The dungeon!" shrieked Dorothy. "No, not the dungeon. "

Manners looked round, but there was no chance of escape, nor would hehave cared to have left Dorothy in such a position, even had the waybeen clear. 

"Sir Henry said he was to be kept in the North Tower, " venturedEustace. 

"Did he, indeed, " sneeringly retorted the chamberlain. "You had betterbe off or I will have you whipped;" and smarting under the rejoinder, Eustace, who considered prudence the better part of valour, took thehint so broadly given and retired. 

An hour later, as Manners sat brooding in his deep and lonely dungeon, he was startled by hearing the key turn slowly in the lock, and amoment later Eustace slipped into the cell and the door was closed andlocked again. 

"Oh, Master Manners, " he cried, as he dropped on his knees, "this isa shameful thing; what can I do, I would help thee if I might? I amdisgusted with my lord; I loathe him and I shall flee from him. "

"'Tis no fault of thine, thou art young, " kindly responded Manners, "but canst thou tell me aught of Mistress Dorothy Vernon?"

"She is safe in the topmost room of the tower, " he replied. 

"Is she in danger yet?"

"Nay, she is safe, and will be treated well. Simon Greenwood's damesays my lord left strange commands about her comfort, and she hasalready rated Simon soundly for his rudeness to the maiden. "

"Hist, " whispered a voice through the keyhole, "Simon is coming. "

Eustace threw up his hands in blank despair. "O, Master Manners, " heejaculated, "I am lost; Simon, would kill me if he finds me here. "

"Creep under there, " replied the prisoner, quickly; "it is dark, and Iwill befriend thee. "

The page obeyed, and he was not a moment too soon; before he couldcomfortably ensconce himself in the damp and fusty hole under thestone bench, the door opened and the chamberlain entered. 

He was flushed with wine, and not at all the same cool, calculated manwho had stood before the captive an hour before. 

"Well, my hearty, " he exclaimed, as he seated himself upon the stonebench just over the gasping page, "things are rather bad, eh?"

"Begone, " said Manners, curtly. 

"Nay, now, that's hardly polite, " he replied. "We will tame you downwith the chains; 'tis many a year since I saw them used, and it wouldbe quite a treat to see them on somebody once again, " and he kickedthe rusty manacles which lay upon the ground. 

"You dare not, and you know it, " retorted Manners fiercely; and, drunkas the man was, he cowered back beneath the glance. 

"Ah, well, you are safe enough as you are, I reckon, " he returned, "and I am taking care of Doll for you, " he added with a sickeninggrin. 

Dorothy's lover started forward as the name of the maiden waspronounced. 

"Scoundrel!" he cried, "weak as I am I would thrash thee well for suchpresumption, were I sure you would not visit your displeasure uponher. "

"Do as you list, " was the coarse reply, "but I swear Doll is a prettylass. "

"Come here, you lout, " exclaimed a shrill voice, as the door openedand admitted a buxom woman of forty or thereabouts. "I have found youat last; come out with you, " and she emphasised the command by a smartclout on his head. 

Simon turned quickly round and prepared to retaliate, but quailingunder the stern glance of his better half, he obeyed her will, andmeekly slunk out through the open door. 

"I'll teach him, sir, how to behave to his betters, " said the woman, turning to Manners. "He shall have a thrashing for this. "

Much amused, the captive esquire thanked her warmly for her kindness. "But I have another favour to seek at your hands, " he said. "I havehad naught to eat as yet, and it is now evening. "

"The dial only points to three as yet, sir knight, " replied the dame, who was not quite certain of the quality of the prisoner, "but youshall have some food. "

"Only three! Ah, well. And Mistress Dorothy?" he anxiously inquired. 

"She is doing well. She has had a meal already. I have her under myown care, the sweet creature; heaven bless her! I had come to thee ather request to bid thee be of good cheer. "

"Aye, heaven bless her, for she is in a sorry fix, " assented Manners. "Tend her well, and I will well reward thee. Thou shalt have suchgauds as thy neighbours shall turn green with envy at the sight ofthee. "

"I want them not, " was the short reply, and Simon Greenwood's damepassed out of the dungeon, leaving Manners alone with the page. 

The door had barely closed before Eustace emerged from hisuncomfortable retreat, covered with insects of many kinds. 

"Ha, ha!" he laughed. "Simon boasts that he cares for no man, save hislord; but he has to care for Dame Greenwood, though, ha, ha! I wouldeven venture in that vile hole once more to see him thwacked again. "

"Thank heaven Mistress Vernon is safe, " said Manners. "Simon will notdisturb her, think you?"

"Not he, sir, never fear. Simon Greenwood knows better than that; and, see, I have brought thee this, " and the page pulled out a dagger andoffered it to him. 

"Nay, put it back, " said Manners kindly. "I would not kill my gaoler, he is but performing his commands. "

"But if it were for Sir Henry De la Zouch?"

"Ha! then I might, perchance. "

"You have much to forgive me, " continued the page, "for I have donethee grievous wrong. "

"How? Thou art but a lad, and I have seen thee only once before?"

"It was then, at the hawking party, when Sir Henry slew the pedlar. Ithas haunted me ever since. "

Manners was intensely surprised at this announcement. It was, indeed, startling and important news. The mystery was solved at last. 

"It was Sir Henry, then!" he exclaimed. "I might have guessed asmuch. "

"It was Sir Henry, and I witnessed it, but I will tell theeafterwards. Listen, for time is short. Pierce this corner with thedagger; do it quickly, for the wall is thick. There is a passage onthe other side, of which none knows save my master and myself. Thewall is softest here, and I will help thee from the other side: butI must make thy gaoler drunk. He is full fond of ale, so you may beassured that you will be unmolested, and I will have horses saddledat a distance. Adieu until to-night, " and not heeding the thanks whichManners poured out from his grateful heart, he rapped at the door sothat he might pass out. 

The meal arrived in good time. A tankard of ale and a slice of baconwith wheaten bread, more than he could eat. 

It was not long before Manners had satisfied his hunger, and in hisfeverish anxiety he could barely wait to hear Eustace's cheery voiceexclaim to the gaoler, "Mat, I have brought thee some ale for lettingme in to see the prisoner. "

"Welcome it is, " was the reply, and very soon a stentorian snoreannounced to the captive that his guardian had fallen into a drunkenslumber, and told him that he might venture to set about his work withsafety. 

An hour's labour proved very unsatisfactory, for the wall was muchharder than he had anticipated, and in spite of the goodwill withwhich he worked, the injuries he had received the day before seriouslyretarded his efforts. 

Eustace, however, was working with more success on the other side, andin a couple more hours a hole, sufficiently wide for Manners to creepthrough, had been made, and in a few more minutes Dorothy's betrothedwas a free man again, urging his steed to the utmost, to fetch helpfrom Haddon, and to capture the miscreant knight who had effected somuch evil. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE LAST OF DE LA ZOUCH. 

 Face to face with the past he stands, With guilty soul, and blood-stained hands; And his deeds rise up against him. Too weak to win, he cannot fly, He begs for life and fears to die, But justice overtakes him. 

The second day's search for Dorothy proved as ineffectual as thefirst, and yielding with ill grace to the counsel of his friends, SirGeorge Vernon submitted to retire from active search, and agreedto remain at Haddon while others scoured the country round for thetruants. 

"It is of no use, " said the baron, "I cannot sleep. I shall notattempt it to-night either. It is enough that I should consent to stayat home. "

"But you must have rest, " expostulated Stanley, "or you will quicklybreak down under the strain. "

"I shall stay here, I tell you, " was the dogged reply, "and receivethe reports as they come in. There are four or five out yet. "

"Has Crowleigh returned?" asked Sir Thomas abruptly. 

"Not yet; may he bring her back. "

"'Tis most queer, " soliloquised the young knight. "I cannot understandit, I confess. Do you suspect him, Sir George?"

"No, I don't, " he replied, bluntly, "do you?"

"I do now. I suspect the whole lot of them; and that Manners and De laZouch are at heart at daggers drawn. "

"And Doll?"

"As for her, " continued Sir Thomas, demurely; "she is far too fondof Manners. I thought we should have trouble with her, for she has astubborn will. "

"Like Lady Maude, " exclaimed Sir George sententiously, "but go! Leaveme alone; you must be in the saddle early in the morning, and you atall events require rest. "

"Will nothing shake your determination?" pursued Stanley, as he lookedin unfeigned pity at the toil-worn, care-riven brow of the unfortunatebaron. "You will make yourself far worse else. "

"I shall sit and wait. Send me in Father Nicholas, for he alone shallbear me company. "

"Well, well, " he replied, "I would persuade thee if I could SirGeorge, but since I cannot do that I will go, but you should rest, "and leaving these words to ring in the baron's ears, the youngnobleman retired to his couch and left the baron alone. 

The sun had not long risen ere he was with Sir George Vernon again. His horse was ready to carry him once more upon the search, and hehimself was ready for the ride. He had expected to find the baronasleep, but in this he was disappointed, for Sir George sat beside thetable deep in converse with the priest. Crowleigh had returned, and sohad the rest, but their tales were alike despondent; none of them haddiscovered a trace, and good Father Nicholas had found it a difficulttask under the circumstances to revive the drooping spirit of hismaster. 

"No luck, Sir Thomas, naught but ill news, " said the baron, as hereplied to his friend's greeting; "'tis an ill wind this. There isnever a trace as yet, and----"

"Hist!" interrupted Margaret's lover. "I hear the sounds of gallopinghoofs. "

Sir George opened the casement window, and peered out into the gloom. 

"I cannot see them yet, " he exclaimed, "but there are more than one, and they are nearing fast. If it should be Dorothy, " he said with asigh of intense feeling; "what joy!"

"Aye, there are more than one, " said Stanley. "We cannot see themhere. Hark, they are thundering at the gate even now; let us go andmeet them, and heaven grant, whoever it may be, that they bring goodnews. "

"Amen, " ejaculated the baron fervently, and his prayer was echoed bythe rest. 

Before they could reach the gate, the horseman had been admitted;and as Sir George and his friends stepped into the yard theyrecognised--not the features of Sir Edward Stanley, as Margaret'slover secretly thought, but the well-known form of Manners. 

"How!--by my halidame, what meaneth this?" exclaimed the baron, delighted beyond measure to see the esquire again. "Tell me, Manners, where my Dorothy is?"

"Speak fair words, " cautioned Stanley, with a frown. 

"Dorothy!" gasped her lover. "Hasten, I beseech thee. She is at Ashby. Where is De la Zouch, the villain?"

"On his way home, " answered Sir Thomas. 

Manners groaned aloud. 

"Heaven forfend us, then, " he cried. "He is a monster of iniquity. Wemust hasten back, an you would rescue Dorothy. "

"There is some conspiracy in this, " exclaimed Stanley. "Here is De laZouch's page lurking behind these horses. Come hither, sirrah, for Irecognise thee well. 'Twere a bold thing of thee to venture on so rashan errand here. "

Eustace was pushed unwillingly forward, and as he stood before theknight his knees knocked together under the terrible frowns that werebestowed upon him. 

"Nay, it is right, " expostulated Manners. "Leave him alone, SirThomas, he will be of service to us yet. "

"But where is Dorothy?" asked the impatient baron. "What has become ofher? Why does she not return with thee?"

"De la Zouch waylaid us, " answered the esquire, "and we fell into histrap. I have ridden hard from Ashby since the sun last set. I escapedhis dungeon by the aid of this, his page, to save poor Dorothy. I amfaint from my bruises and hard riding. Cannot you believe me?"

"Sir Henry, " replied the baron, with a sneer. "Sir Henry told us asimilar story, but then it was you who had waylaid him. "

"The villain!" groaned Manners, "I will have revenge. "

"That's just what he called you, " said Sir Thomas, promptly. "Two of atrade never agree. "

"My master felled Master Manners to the ground himself, " interposedthe page; "or rather, I mean he struck him senseless while he layinjured on the ground. "

"And he carried Doll away to his castle, " said Manners. "I shallavenge her, though. I can understand your suspicions now, and forgiveyou, for De la Zouch has played you false as well as me, and hasreturned to his castle now to reap the reward of his villainy. I shallpursue him, though. He sought my life, defamed my name, imprisoned me, and now he has gone when I get here. Eustace, " he added, turning tothe page, "let us return; I will gather friends of my own with whichto rescue her, and I shall be strong till I have met and paid myenemy. God grant we may yet be in time. Crowleigh, you believe me? Youwill come, and, mayhap, we may intercept him ere his journey's end, for he cannot long be gone. "

"Nay, nay, man; stay and have thy wound attended to, " said the baronsympathetically. "Thou'rt honest, I would swear. "

"And yesterday he seemed well nigh dead, " said Eustace, referring toManners. "Sure I am he can ride no longer. We rode hard here, and wellI trow his wound--"

"Stay not for me, " interrupted Manners. "This is precious time. Icommand you to hasten or it will be too late, for when De la Zouchdiscovers I am gone, he will certainly remove her to another place. "

"We will, " enthusiastically shouted Sir George, and in the twinklingof an eye he seized hold of the alarm-bell rope and in an instantawakened the tired sleepers of the neighbourhood by its clang. 

"And thou art his page, " said Stanley. "Thou wilt show us the way. "

"Aye, that I will an it please you, my lord, but I will never returnto him. "

"Meg, we are off, " exclaimed Sir Thomas to his betrothed, who hadhastily descended from her own room, startled at the unusual noisein the courtyard at that early hour. "We are going to bring Dorothyback. "'

"Where is she?"

"At Ashby Castle, so Master Manners saith, " he replied. "You will gowith us, I hope, " he added, turning round to the esquire. "You willwant to revenge yourself. "

"I will avenge her, yes;" he responded, not heeding the convert sneer, "that I will right heartily. "

Meanwhile lanterns had been glimmering in the lower portion of theyard; men had been frantically shouting to each other, and theirvoices had mingled with the trampling of horses' feet; and now, everything being ready, the fact was announced, and in a few minutesthe cavalcade started out upon its expedition, determined not onlyto rescue the maiden, but also to administer a sharp and well-meritedrebuke upon the faithless knight who had decoyed her away. 

De la Zouch arrived at his castle soon after the party started fromHaddon, and although he had failed to lull the Vernons into a falsebelief in his fidelity, yet he had put them on a wrong scent, and hecongratulated himself inasmuch as he had left behind him no strongsuspicion of the truth. 

Simon Greenwood had retired to rest. Sir Henry was not expected homeso soon. Indeed, he had told his chamberlain confidentially that ifevents progressed aright he should probably not return for a week ormaybe more, and the sudden return of his lord found the worthy deputyin nowise prepared to meet him, and he had his good dame to thankthat, inasmuch as she had deprived him of liquor sufficient to makehim drunk, he was in no worse condition than he happened to be. 

"Ha, Simon, " exclaimed the knight, as that functionary put in anappearance, "I am back again, you see. "

"Troth, and in good time, too, my lord. "

"Aye, I have come pretty quick, I assure you. The birds are safe, eh?"

"Safe enough, I would stake my head on that. "

"That's right, I knew I could trust you, Simon. I am hungry though, and by all the saints in the calendar, I am sore and stiff as well. Iam injured, too, for my horse fell down with me and crushed my leg. "

"You look it, my lord, and worse, " exclaimed Dame Greenwood. "You lookbadly hurt. "

"Ah, my own fault, my own fault; I have been a fool. Eustace himselfcould not have ridden worse. Where is Eustace, I have not seen himyet?"

Simon looked inquiringly at his better half, and to his discomfiture, she stolidly returned the glance. Neither of them appeared to knowanything of his whereabouts. In the scuffle and worry of the time hehad been forgotten, and they had to make the best defence they could. 

"Methinks he is paying a visit to some fair damsel of the town, SirHenry, with his dulcimer, " suggested the dame. "I saw him with themusic some while before the gates were closed. "

"He was prating this and that to me, my lord, " added Simon, who foundhis tongue at length, "until I threatened to whip him. He sneaked awayquick enough then, ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha!" laughed the knight, as he divested himself, with Simon'said, of his riding coat, "he would order thee about, eh? But, by myfaith, man, I am hungry, I swear. I am quite ready to sup when I haveseen my prisoners. "

Dame Greenwood took the hint and went out to procure the meal. "SirHenry is in wonderful good humour to-night, " she murmured, "and 'tis agood thing, too for Simon, that he is. What a fool he would be withoutme, " and comforting herself with this reflection, she hastened to obeyher lord's behests. 

"Dorothy is in the tower?" asked Sir Henry as he ravenously fell uponhis meal. "How is she now? Proud, I suppose, eh?"

"Humph! well enough, though a trifle obstinate. "

"Well, we will go and see her. And Manners, what of him?"

"Ha! high and haughty. Rides the high horse, my lord. Has friends atCourt and friends all around coming to release him. "

"A pretty tale, truly, Simon, " laughed the knight, as he finished hishasty meal and ordered some more spiced wine to drink. 

"Yes, my lord, " replied the chamberlain. "So I put him in the olddungeon. "

"Eh, what! You have put him where?" asked Sir Henry, turning backbreathlessly. "You idiot, you; where are the keys?"

"In the old dungeon, I said, " explained the wonder-strickenchamberlain. "The safest part of the castle, my lord. "

"Where are the keys?" thundered his master. "Quick!"

Simon handed them over, and struck with intense amazement at thesudden and complete change in his master's manner, he awaited thecourse of events. 

"Follow me, " said the knight, sharply, as he opened the door andstarted across the yard. "Did I not command thee to put him in thetower?" he cried. 

Simon returned no answer. He was stupified. His head swam, and he halfpersuaded himself as he followed his master across the yard that hewas the victim of some dread nightmare. 

"See here!" exclaimed Sir Henry as he kicked the drunken gaoleraside and sharply awoke him; "and here!" he added, as he unlockedthe ponderous door and held the glimmering lantern up. "See here, " hecried, "what's this?" and he pushed the wondering Simon in. 

"Why--how! He has gone, " he gasped. 

"Of course he has. "

And true it was. The worst fears of De la Zouch were realised. Manners, as we already know, had found out the secret of the dungeon, and his flight was only just discovered. 

Sir Henry de la Zouch was prompt in action, and immediately uponsatisfying himself of Dorothy's safety, he set out, accompanied bya number of his retainers, to find her lover, feeling pretty wellconvinced that he would be discovered lurking somewhere in theneighbouring woods. It was in vain they searched. Under the eye oftheir ubiquitous lord, the tired followers beat every copse and glade, and it was not until the afternoon was well advanced that the Knightof Ashby relinquished the search and thought of turning back. 

"Hark!" said Simon to his master, as the latter gave the order toreturn, "I hear the tread of horse. "

"We will advance, then, " was the reply, and the unwilling company oncemore turned their backs upon their homes, and marched further into theforest. 

The two parties had for some time unconsciously been approaching eachother, and when the quick ears of the chamberlain had detected theproximity of Sir George Vernon and his followers, they were onlyseparated from each other by a narrow strip of thickly-grown wood, anda minute or two sufficed to bring them into collision. 

"Ha, ha!" shouted Sir George, as he sighted the faithless knight. "Ha, ha, torn clothes, we have you now. Here the villain is, " and hespurred his horse forward to cope with his enemies single-handed. 

De la Zouch was amazed and staggered at the sight, and without waitingto meet the baron he rode back to his party, hotly pursued by the Kingof the Peak and his men of Derbyshire. 

"Stay, " cried Manners, "we will settle this between ourselves"; andwithout waiting for assistance he dashed forward at De la Zouch, andmade a furious onslaught upon him. 

It was no tournament now; it was a struggle for life itself! Andwhilst Dorothy's lover was animated by a stern resolve to punish hisfoe, at whatever the cost, De la Zouch fought like a madman, becausehe fought with a halter round his neck. 

As for the latter's followers, at the first charge, with one accordthey turned, and leaving their lord, for whom they had little love, tomeet his fate, they tried to save themselves by flight. 

The struggle was not prolonged. Manners was by far the betterswordsman of the two, and De la Zouch, disheartened at the flight ofhis followers gradually weakened in his attack, and at length fellmortally wounded, leaving no one now to hinder them from marchingvictoriously on to Ashby. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A DISGUISED LOVER. 

 Imperious beauty, Treading upon the neck of understanding, Compelled me to put off my natural shape Of loyal duty, to disguise myself. 

 MASSINGER

The autumn winds were howling among the trees and scattering the laterleaves in all directions, when, with the fall of twilight, a gentleknock was heard at the door of the hut of the chief forester ofHaddon. 

A lonely traveller stood outside, shivering in his rough and scantygarments as he stood in the still evening breeze, and as he waitedexpectantly at the unopened door he heard a gruff voice inside thecottage trolling forth a simple ballad of the chase. 

He waited patiently until the song was finished, and then, takingcourage, he tapped again much louder than before, and was rewarded byhearing footsteps advance towards the threshold, and a moment laterthe crazy portal was standing open, and the unkempt head of theforester peered inquiringly out. 

"What now, what now, " he inquired, as his eye lighted upon the strangefigure before him; "who and what art thou?"

"Art thou Roger the forester?" asked the wanderer in reply. 

"Roger Morton, at your service, yes. "

"Then, by the love of heaven, I beseech thee let me in. "

"Well, there are few ask that favour off me, but none shall ever sayI turned an empty mouth away at night, e'en though it were a beggar's. Come in. "

Thankful indeed to receive so ready an invitation, the travellerentered the hospitable cottage. 

"I am not a beggar, though, forsooth, " he began, as he seated himselfupon the log which did duty for a seat. "You do not recognise me, Roger, I perceive. "

"Roger Morton, I repeat it, at your service. "

"Well, then, Roger Morton, be it so, but yet you seem to know me not. "

"Odds, troth, " ejaculated the forester, "I seem to know thee somewhat;we have met before. "

"A many times, Roger. "

"Roger Morton. "

"Well, well, Roger Morton, I am apt to forget myself. "

"Ha! you are Nathan Grene, " interrupted the man, as he laid before hisguest some cheese and a mug of new milk. "I know your voice. "

"Are we alone?" whispered the traveller. 

"We are, " replied Roger, as he picked up a stout stick with which todefend himself, "but he would be a bold man to tackle me alone, for Ican take care of myself full well;" and he quickly placed himself inan attitude of defence. 

"Tut, I mean no ill, 'tis a matter of secrecy which I am about toentrust you with; read this, " and pulling up a piece of cord whichsuspended from his neck, he drew up a tiny casket from his bosom, and, opening it, he drew out a neatly-folded slip of paper and held it out. 

Slowly and laboriously Roger spelled the missive out, and havingsucceeded at last in making himself master of its contents, hewhistled with surprise, and closely scanned the visage of his guest. 

"What a change!" he exclaimed at length. "What will the baron say?"

"Hush, speak gently, or we shall be overheard. The baron must notknow. Can you be trusted?"

"Surely. And you are Master Manners who killed that De la Zouch. Tothink of it, now. "

John Manners it was. His rescue of Dorothy had advanced his suit butlittle. Lady Vernon had been too proud to own herself defeated, andSir George had passed his word to the Stanleys and was bound to keepto his promise, while Edward Stanley, who had arrived at Haddon soonafter the maiden's rescue, had taken a dislike to his rival and hadmade matters so uncomfortable for him at the Hall that the unfortunateesquire had found it necessary to take the hint and withdraw himselffrom Haddon. 

But though driven away he was not defeated, for he yet found means ofhearing from his betrothed, and even occasionally to correspondwith her, but he soon found that the long absence grew more and moreunendurable, until at last he determined to venture forward at everyrisk to be near her again. 

"And so they would force Mistress Dorothy to marry Sir ThomasStanley's brother?" said the forester after a pause, as he handed thelittle missive back. 

"Yes, and Dorothy conjures you to help us. You will do it, will younot?"

"So good as she has been to my poor little Lettice, yes, that I willdo; but how?"

"I must be a forester. "

"'Tis a rough life for such as thee, Master Manners. "

"Yes. "

"And it is dangerous, too, at times. "

"Aye, I know. "

"And then if you were to be discovered?"

"Don't talk of ifs, man. I talked it all over with Dorothy long ago. She could not dissuade me, nor can you. I am ready for anything forher sake. "

"Heaven bless her. I--"

"Aye, heaven bless her, " interrupted Manners. "I shall wed her yet, ifheaven does but bless her. "

"You are decided to join our craft, then?" asked Roger. "We are twowoodmen short, as luck will have it. "

"I have come to be one, then, " replied Manners. "I am disguised forthat alone. "

And so it came to pass that John Manners, the nephew of an earl, whose uncle, even now, was high in favour with the Queen, and who hadhimself bowed the knee on more than one occasion before her throne, had become a woodsman, and joined the foresters of Sir George Vernon. Love, and love alone, could have induced him to humble himself somuch. It was for love of Dorothy that he turned his back upon theRoyal Court; and now, to win his bride, he was content, nay happy, todiscard his own station in life, and take upon himself the lot of acommon woodsman. 

Fortune was indeed leading him by strange paths, but he trusted shewould lead him to the prize at last. 

Dorothy's lot, meanwhile, had not been a bright one. Edward Stanleywas relentless, and in answer to her piteous appeals that she lovedhim not, he cited the baron's words, referred her to the promise SirGeorge had rashly made to Sir Thomas; he declared that he loved herfervently, and, had it not been for the baron's interference, wouldhave carried her off at the end of a month and have married herstraightway. 

Manners was sternly forbidden her; the gates of Haddon were closedagainst him, and even an excuse was found to keep Crowleigh away aswell. It was fondly hoped that these stringent measures would have theeffect of bringing Dorothy to her senses, but their plans completelyfailed. The maiden began to sicken. The colour fled from her rosycheeks, and she began to grow rapidly worse. Lady Vernon ascribed itto mere obstinacy, and grew impatient with her, and made her worsethan she would otherwise have been by finding fault with everythingshe did; and by setting her long tasks of tenter-stitching to perform, making her unhappy lot more miserable still. The only friend she hadto whom she could unbosom her secrets was her maid Lettice, and duringthis time the hearts of the two girls were knitted closely together, the one by a craving for sympathy, and the other drawn to love by thedual bond of love and pity. 

Many a night had these two wept together in the darkness and silenceof an unlighted room, and many a time had Dorothy laid her head uponher tire-maid's knee and sobbed until with swollen eyes she had sobbedherself to sleep; and many a night had Dorothy sat alone, forbidden toleave the Hall, while her maid had gone out on a fruitless errand todiscover if her lover had yet come. 

"Not yet?" she would ask, as the maid returned, and Lettice had echoed"Not yet, " in reply, until she hated the very sound of the words. 

"O, Lettice, he has not forgotten me?" she would sob distractedly, asshe saw the disappointed face return. 

"No, never, my lady. Something has happened, surely. "

"It must be so, " her mistress would reply, and then she would relapseinto silence. 

To-night Dorothy sat alone. Her eyes were heavy, for she hadbeen weeping long. Her sky seemed overcast; there was not a riftdiscoverable anywhere, and she was almost broken-hearted. Nearly twomonths had passed, and no sign of her lover had she seen to brightenher. Edward had told her that her lover had renounced her, and inspite of herself she almost began to believe the story. Lettice hadgone out on her mission once more, but she questioned whether shewould ever go again, and she prepared herself, as the time for themaid's return drew nigh, to receive the usual answer, "No, my lady, not yet. "

Later than usual Dorothy heard her well-known footstep lightlytripping along the passage. The very lateness of her return inspiredher with a ray of hope, and opening the door, she went out to meether. 

"Has he come, Lettice, has he come?" she eagerly exclaimed, varyingfor once her usual despondent query. And, as she asked, her heartfluttered wildly within her, and the hot blood mounted to her cheeks. 

"I have news of him for thee, " returned the maid, gaily. 

Dorothy was too overcome to speak. The long-expected news had come atlast; she fell upon the tire-maid's neck and wept tears of joy, whileLettice drew her unresistingly along, and led her to her little roomagain. 

"There, " she said, as she closed the doors so that none might hear. "Master Manners sends his duty to thee, my lady. "

"His _duty_, indeed, " she exclaimed, with drooping eyes; "why not hislove forsooth?"

"'Twas love he said, " returned the maid. "He is a forester. "

"A forester!" echoed Dorothy in amazement. "My John a forester! Not acommon woodman, Lettice, surely?"

"Aye, but he is. He has done it for thy sake. It was the only way. "

"And they told me he had forsaken me. Was ever man so noble as he?"

"He has sent thee this, " said Lettice, as she handed a letter to hermistress. "'Tis but roughly done, but he said you would forgive it, and he sealed it with a score of kisses before he gave it me. "

Dorothy hastily took up the note and read it. Evidently it pleasedher well, for as she perused its contents her countenance flushed withpleasure. 

"Lettice, " she exclaimed, "only you and I, besides your father, knowthat Hubert is the same as Master Manners. We must keep it secret asthe grave itself. Is he well disguised?"

"In truth, I knew him not until he called me by name. "

"'Tis well. He runs a fearful risk. Edward or Thomas Stanley would aslief kill him as they would a dog did they but recognise him again. "

"He has been ill, and he is deadly thin. "

"Poor John. He tells me so. I understand all now. "

"That will disguise him better than aught else, he said. "

"Perhaps it is so, but 'tis a cruel disguise, " said Dorothysympathetically. "Did he give thee any word for me?"

"Naught, save that I was to tell thee he would write anon, as he couldnot see thee. He will hide the letters in the tree that Father Philipfell against; there is a hole in it, and he has shown it me. But youwill see him soon; he wears a peacock's feather in his cap. "

"I should know him well enough without a sign, " said Dorothydecisively, "and he were best without it, for it might lead him intoperil. "

"Father will send him with the logs, " pursued Lettice. "He came butyesternight. "

"Hush, Lettice, is not that Lady Maude coming?"

"Gramercy no, I hope not, or it might fare ill with us, " said themaid, "but hide the letter, for the love of heaven do, " she addedquickly as the footsteps quickly approached. 

Quick as thought Doll transferred the missive into her pocket, and, with a guilty look which she vainly strove to hide, she turned tobrave Lady Vernon. 

Lady Vernon it was, but she passed hurriedly along the corridor, andhaving escaped thus luckily so far, they waited not to tempt fortuneagain, but bidding each other an affectionate "Good-night, " Letticewithdrew, and left Dorothy alone with her newly-gotten joy. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A NARROW ESCAPE. 

 The moon in pearly light may steep The still blue air; The rose hath ceased to droop and weep, For lo! her joy is there. He sings to her, and o'er the trees She hears his sweet notes swim, The world may weary--she but hears Her love, and hears but him. 

 P. J. BAILEY. 

John Manners found life uncomfortable enough in the new condition oflife in which he had placed himself. The work was hard, and the farewas rough. There was no difference between his lot and the lot ofthose around him, and yet, in spite of this, he was looked ataskance by his new companions, while to crown all, he found very fewopportunities of meeting or seeing his beloved Dorothy. 

Often had he made arrangements to meet her at different trystingplaces, but, just as often had he waited patiently, only to bedisappointed by the non-arrival of his lady-love. In this sorry plighthe had been obliged to content himself with sending messages to herthrough Lettice, whom he constantly met at her father's hut; or, failing her, as a last resource he fell back upon communicating withhis lover through the unsatisfactory medium of the tree, where, notunfrequently, as he placed a fresh note in he found the previous oneuntouched. 

At last, however, after many fruitless attempts which would assuredlyhave effectually daunted less ardent lovers, they found themselvesonce more together in the woods. What bliss, what rapture, whatdelight, filled the heart of each as they gazed fondly at the other!Dorothy felt bright and lithesome as of yore, as she felt the touchof her lover's hands again. The weeks of misery through which she hadjust passed seemed but as a dream to her as she once more heard hischeery voice, and the haggard, careworn look, which had settledupon her fair face of late, was instantly dispelled as her betrothedimprinted a warm kiss upon her blushing cheeks. As for Manners, he wascompletely transported with delight, and for some moments he bathedhis hungry eyes in the sunshine of her beauty. To see her again hadbeen his dearest wish, and now she stood before him, and he felt thatall the sacrifices he had been called upon to make for the sake of hislove were more than compensated for as he heard her gently call him bythe old familiar name. 

"John, " she said. 

"Well, dearest one; we are met once more. "

"You can trust me now?"

"Aye, indeed, I can, " he replied, with glistening eyes. "Forgive me, Doll, I know you will. "

"I do; I did long ago. I knew you could not doubt me long. How good ofyou to come, and to risk so much--for my sake, " she added, raising herlustrous eyes up to his. 

"Nay, Doll, it were for my sake, too. I could not be far from theelong; the saints forfend I should. But tell me, Dorothy, how go ourfortunes now; I fear not well?"

"Alas, no! Lady Maude is stricter than ever, " she replied. "Were I alazy serving-maid mine were a happier lot. "

"And Sir Edward, what of him?"

"He wooes me with threats. Was ever a maiden won thus, John? He vows Ishall be his bride, and O--"

"What, dearest?"

"Margaret is to be wedded soon, and Sir Edward swears there shall betwo weddings at the same time. He says I shall like him well enoughin time to come. Margaret wishes it, Lady Maude wishes it, Sir Thomaswishes it, and Edward Stanley says it shall be. "

"He knows it not, " sturdily replied Manners, as he clasped her to hisbreast. "Our love is strong enough to conquer all that, Doll. "

"I hope it will. I think it will in the end, " she replied, "but theway is very dark for us at present. But naught shall stay us now. Ourlove is too true not to win. "

"It shall!" he returned, decisively. "Be of good heart, my preciousone, we shall soon have passed all this and be happy together. "

"Heaven grant it, " replied Dorothy, fervently, "but it is a terribletime now. With you exposed to danger every hour outside, and everyhand against me in the house, save Lettice, 'tis terrible, terrible!"and the maiden burst into tears. 

"Poor Doll, " said Manners, as he tenderly supported her. "Your lot ishard, but there will be a change ere long. The wind does not alwaysblow from one quarter, you know; it will alter soon. "

"I fear me not, " replied the maiden disconsolately. 

"Oh, surely, when they see what an unconquerable will thou hast. SirGeorge loves thee too well to lightly disregard thy happiness. Heloves you dearly; he will surely repent ere the time comes, for hehath a tender heart for thee. "

Dorothy laid her hand upon his arm and beckoned him to be still, pointing at the same time to a thick mass of the thick foliage withwhich they were surrounded. 

"Hist, " she whispered. "Methought I heard the sound of footsteps, listen!"

She paused, and together they bent their heads and listened, butnothing was to be heard save the rustling of the leaves. 

"'Twas thy fancy, " exclaimed Manners, "thou art frightened. "

"I thought I saw the form of a man pass by those trees, " she replied. "It must be fancy, though, and yet, methought I saw him stop and thenpass on again. "

"Sir George will stand by thee, " pursued Manners, "he loves theebetter than himself. "

"I know it, I know he loves me much, John; but he has promised me tothe Stanleys, and when I told him of our trothplight he laughed, andsaid he was doing it all for the best. He forbade me to mention yourname ever more, or even think of you again--as if you were not ever inmy mind. "

"Does not Lady Maude relent at all?"

"Lady Maude relent! Nay, rather does she grow more bitter against meday by day, and that I may forget thee she makes me tenter-stitch frommorn till eve. Even Margaret gives her voice bitterly against me now. "

"Thou hast no one to console thee, then?"

"Save Lettice, no. "

"Poor Dorothy. And Father Nicholas, what saith he? He is a friend ofmine. "

"He is so grave I have not mentioned it to him. "

"Then by my troth, Doll, bid him meet me here to-morrow night. Heshall help us, he shall befriend thee. Tell him all, he can be welltrusted, I wot, unless he has strangely changed since he hath takenthe cowl. Bid him come here alone and without fail. "

Soon, all too soon, the brief interview came to an end, and Dorothyhad to go back to the Hall, while her lover, having reluctantly partedfrom her when he dare accompany her no further, slowly wound his wayback to the sorry hut which served him, in common with the rest of hisfellows, as a home. 

He had no heart to join in the boisterous fun with which hiscompanions were making themselves merry as he entered, and passingthem unnoticed by, he took a seat in the furthest corner of the roomand watched the faggots as they blazed and burned away upon the hearthin front of him. 

Dorothy returned with a sad heart, too. The moment of bliss which hadso transported her with delight had passed away again, and she foundherself in pretty well the same downcast frame of mind in which shehad been before, for she knew not when she would see her lover again, and she dare not let herself ponder on the terrible risks her noblelover ran. 

"Well, Dorothy, " said Lady Maude, as she burst into the maiden's roomere Doll had found time to divest herself of hood and wimple, "thouart serving us a pretty trick. Thou would'st meet thy whilom lover allunbeknown to us, eh? Pick up thy things and follow me. "

It would have been worse than useless to have refused, and argument, Dorothy knew of old, at such a time would have been equally futile;so, while her blood almost froze with terror in her veins, she meeklyobeyed her step-mother and followed her through the long ballroom intothe banqueting-room below in a perfect agony of terror lest her loverhad been taken and was about to be confronted with her. 

The stone-flagged chamber, in which the festive table, which hascreaked under many a load of beef and venison, still stands ingrandeur all unique, was in full glory then. The musicians' gallerywas richly bedecked with gilt, and was adorned with antlers, thetrophies of many a chase, in place of the dingy, whitewash-spotted, pictures which, hang upon its walls to-day (and look as if they weresadly in need of a washing). Gay hunting-scenes, and a canvas onwhich, were delineated the forms of the Virgin and her Babe, met theeye and pleased it. A savoury odour of newly-baked cakes floated alongthe passage from the kitchens right into the room, and a piece oftapestry, one of Dorothy's first attempts, depended over the doorwayof the carved wooden screen to keep out draughts, and at the same timegive a warm and pleasing effect to the interior. 

It was into this room, in which sat the baron and Sir Thomas Stanley, looking terribly grave and severe, that Lady Vernon led poor Dorothy. 

"Come hither, Dorothy, " said the baron, as she entered. 

The "Dorothy" sounded ominous, and she advanced in great trepidation. 

"You have been out without our knowledge, " he exclaimed. 

"Out; of course she has, " interrupted Lady Vernon. "See, she cannotdeny it, she has the tokens of guilt upon her now, " and she derisivelypointed at the tell-tale garments she had made her carry in. 

"Hush, Maude, " said the baron, "you will frighten her. Dorothy, youhave been with Manners, " he added, turning severely towards her. 

Dorothy hung down her head, but vouchsafed no reply. She was in anagony of fear for the safety of her lover, but amid all her terrorsshe was resolved that no words should fall from her lips which mightbring trouble upon him. 

"Aye, and with Master Manners again, " repeated the dame. 

"What have you to say, Dorothy?" asked Sir George quickly. 

"Nothing, " she replied. 

"Then you _have_ been with him?"

"Nay, I said not so. "

"Of course she has, " exclaimed Lady Vernon, "who can doubt it?"

"We heard Manners speaking; I could swear to it now, " said Sir ThomasStanley. 

"I fear it is even so, Dorothy, " said the baron, not unkindly. "Thereis a guilty look upon thy face. Now tell us where he is and we willforgive thee thy share. "

Dorothy returned no answer. She was determined that no words of hersshould injure him. 

"He saved my life, " she replied, as the question was repeated. 

"Tut, tell us where to find him, else thou wilt have enough tothank that stubborn will of thine for, " interrupted the baroness, impatiently. 

There was a sound of footsteps just outside, and they all paused tolisten. 

"'Tis Edward bringing Manners back, " said Sir Thomas quietly. "Herethey come. "

The tapestry was quickly pushed aside, and the ruddy face of SirEdward Stanley insinuated itself between, the fringes and the screen, but it was not the face of a contented man, for it wore a disappointedlook. 

"Bring him in, " commanded the baron. 

"Nay, I have not caught him yet, " he ruefully replied. "Come and helpus, he has hidden himself amid the woodsmen's huts. "

"You go, " said the baron, addressing Sir Thomas. "I will stay withDorothy"; and without waiting to be bidden a second time Sir ThomasStanley left his untasted supper on the table and joined in the searchfor Dorothy's forbidden lover. 

Meanwhile, the subject of all this commotion sat innocently gazingat the burning embers, watching the logs as they blazed up and thengradually disappeared into powder to be blown away by the first slightbreath of wind. Surely, he reflected, 'tis so with the baron's will;he is in the height of his determined fury now. But soon--and as thedoor opened, another puff of wind blew away the airy ashes of a oncestout log--aye, surely, his opposition will vanish like as that. 

"Never a soul came in here, your lordship, for a long time back, "said Roger, deferentially doffing his cap. "Your lordship must bemistaken. "

Manners turned round and beheld, with a feeling akin to dismay, SirThomas Stanley and his brother just within the threshold of the door. 

"Tut, tut, man, " replied the knight, "I say he came in here; he wasseen to enter, and no one has passed out since then. "

Sir Thomas appealed to the others, but they were all unanimous insupporting their master, and replied in one chorus of surprise. Manners had not been seen for weeks, and not a soul among them had anyidea of his whereabouts. 

"I suppose no one entered, then?" sneered the knight. 

"No, " replied Roger complacently, "not for a long time back. "

"Did he not come in here?" appealed Sir Thomas to those outside. 

"Aye, aye, " came the answer, "he did. "

"Then where is he?" demanded the knight fiercely. 

"Nay, I swear by the Holy Virgin I saw him not, " replied the sturdyforester, in perfect truth, for he had not noticed his arrival. 

"Hugh came in last, " said Lettice's lover, Will. "Hast thou seen aughtof this Manners of late, Hugh?"

Manners' first impulse was to grapple with his pursuers, but hecontrolled himself, and trusting to the perfection of his disguise toscreen him, without a moment's hesitation he boldly answered in thenegative. 

"Not I, " he said, emphatically. "I left my axe just outside, and itlooks so like rain that I went to fetch it in, but I saw nobody; no, not a soul. Methinks it will rain hard, too, before the morning. "

"Tut, " interrupted Sir Edward. "Did you hear anybody?"

"No, not even a mouse. "

"Then we must search. Out, men, and help us. The man that catcheshim shall be rewarded well. We must find him; he is hereabouts, forI heard his voice. A murrain on the fellow--all this trouble for awoman's whim. "

He glanced suspiciously round the cot, but finding no suspicioustokens he led them out and set them to work to discover him. Few ofthem, however, were zealous, for Manners had made himself popularamong them during his visits to the Hall. Dorothy they adored andthey were not at all anxious to bring sorrow upon her to oblige theimperious Stanleys. Besides these considerations, the whole affair wasso romantic that it seemed more like an acted ballad than a seriousreality while Manners' position appealed to them in such a powerfulfashion that they sympathised with him, and had not the search beenconducted immediately under the eyes of the two nobles it would havebeen far more half-hearted than it was. A few, and a few only, weretempted to diligence by the offer of reward, and made a display ofalacrity, and amongst the busiest, with a price upon his head, JohnManners searched vigilantly for himself. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

NOT YET

 You might esteem him A child for his might, Or you may deem him A coward through his flight. But if she whom love honours Be concealed from the day, Set a thousand guards on her, Love will find out the way. 

 ANON. 

If love cannot sharpen the faculties of mankind; if it cannot quickenthe perceptions; if it has not the power to make the deaf hear, the blind see, the lame walk--at least, sufficient for its ownsuccess--then, indeed--! But it is possessed of all these virtues, andmore. If necessity be the mother of invention, then is love the motherof both; and surely the most ingenious devices and the cleverestproductions had been connected with this subtle passion. 

Divers and many were the plans which Manners devised to meet hisbeloved Dorothy again, but the success he so richly merited was tardyin coming, and one after another his schemes were frustrated, untilsuccess seemed to have receded from his grasp for ever. 

Dorothy, in fact, was too carefully watched to permit of her meetingher lover easily, and she was kept too busy at the tapestry frameto allow her much time for writing to him had she been so disposed. Whenever she went out she was well attended, and for a long timeManners was fain to content himself with an occasional glimpse ofher pale face as she rode by, or by sending love-notes and receivingmessages back by the kindly aid of the faithful Lettice. 

Still he persevered, and was rarely absent from the trysting place atthe appointed time, for Dorothy might come on any night, and when shecame he was determined she should find him there. But she never came. Lettice occasionally he met, but even she was suspected and was keptindoors as much as possible, and more often than not he sat his wearyvigils out alone. 

Good Roger Morton did his utmost to further his friend's design, sending him up as often as possible on missions to the Hall, and hewent so frequently both with messages and faggots, that, seeing himso often, no one suspected that the young woodsman was any other thanwhat he professed to be. 

Time flew on: weeks passed by. Autumn brought its coldest and chillestweather for the winter to take up and carry forward. The steers werefattening in the stalls, or salting in the troughs, for the Christmasfestivities. The capacious larders of Haddon were replenished to thefull, ready to withstand the attack of the cooks; large piles of woodlay stacked up in the yard, ready to supply the many fires which wereto cook the victuals for the feast; and the servants themselves grewdaily more surprised at the constant arrival of fresh stores, andwondered if ever so magnificent a feast had taken place before. 

With Dorothy the time passed slowly and painfully along. Her positionhad not improved one whit, and she was wearied of the life ofrestraint and imprisonment to which she was subjected. Her fingerswere sore and ached again with the continual tenter-stitching she hadto perform, and her whole nature revolted at the system of espionagewhich Lady Vernon and Sir Edward Stanley had set upon her. The dailyvisits of that unfeeling and determined nobleman with whom they wouldforce her into marriage, Edward Stanley, always left her with a sadderheart than she had had before. 

With Manners the time flew by quickly. He sorely wanted to seeDorothy again, and as the days rapidly passed he recked not of thedisappointments of the past, but only thought of the few days whichintervened between them and Christmas. 

Surely the rumour must be wrong. There would never be two weddings atthe Hall this Christmastide. He, at least, would not believe it. 

"Nicholas, " he said, as he met that worthy at last, "thou wilt onlymarry one?"

"The baron bids me marry the other as well. I would it were not so, for the maiden cares naught for him. I like not this brother; he isworse than Margaret's betrothed. "

"You must help us, then. "

"I must do my duty, but if in doing that I can aid thee thou hast butto speak the word. "

"But you shall help us, Nicholas. "

"Why, how?"

"I will tell thee. "

"I am a priest, remember. I cannot do anything unworthy even for afriend like thee; though thou wert my benefactor. "

He paused, as if unwilling to wound his friend by his words, andseeing the look of dismay upon the other's face, he stopped. 

"Nicholas, " said Manners, "thou shalt do naught but stand. I must seeDorothy. I shall, " he added determinedly. "Some way or other Ishall see her; even though blood be shed I shall do it, " and in theintensity of his feelings he involuntarily put his hand down to hisside to feel for the dagger which was not there. 

"I fear thou art too venturesome, " expostulated his friend, quietly. 

"I am desperate, " he replied; "and you, Nicholas, by simply standingstill might help me as much as I require, and might, perchance, prevent bloodshed, too. "

"Hush, friend John, talk not thus foolishly. "

"And the blood will be upon your head, " continued the distractedlover. "With or without your aid I must, I shall, see Doll; and thatsoon. You know my word is not lightly broken. Did I not succour theeand save thy life when all conspired against thee?"

"Aye, in truth, and--"

"And I call upon you now, Nicholas, to discharge that debt, " pursuedManners, hotly. "You must; I am resolved, I am well nigh desperate;and Father Philip sanctioned the troth, Nicholas, and blessed us erehe died. "

"Is that so?"

"Assuredly it is. Thou shalt help us, nor shalt thou be dishonoured inthe deed. "

"An you will lead me into no evil I will consent, but I fear to trustthee, thou wert ever rash and headstrong. "

Two days later, ere the Sabbath mass began, there stole into thelittle chapel of Haddon the figure of a man, which ever since thebreak of day might have been observed crouched down at the bottom ofthe mighty brewing vat. Had anyone cared to look under the cloth whichcovered it they would assuredly have discovered him there. 

The door of the sanctuary had just been thrown open, somewhat laterthan usual, for the servants had evidently overslept themselves, andwere now to be heard throwing the shutters open, and bustling about inthe kitchens, trying to make up for the time they had lost. 

The man, by his garb, might have been taken for a labourer. His blackhair hung in matted patches upon his shoulders; his clothes were tornand patched, and the coarse leather jerkin he wore, which was almostready to be replaced by a new one, gave unmistakable tokens that thewearer was a man of toil. 

In spite of all these signs the face of the man was handsome, and notwithout traces of hauteur. His hands were red and rough, but not hardand horny as those of other craftsmen were; and his whole bearingwould have impressed a critical observer that this man at least wasworthier of a better lot. 

Yes, it was John Manners. He was bearding the lion in his den. 

Pushing the inner door ajar, and casting a look around the yard atthe same time to satisfy himself that he was not observed, he quietlyentered the edifice, and closed the door. 

"Ha, ha, " he mused. "At last we shall meet again, " and at the thoughtof it he heaved a sigh of relief. 

Seating himself in the family pew, he pulled out a book from hiscapacious breast-pocket, and as he anticipated a long period ofuninterrupted peace, he commenced to peruse it. It was "Tottel'sMiscellany, " a collection of amorous sonnets, and little love sonnetsand little love songs, and he read page after page, to the delightof his heart, until he was startled to a sense of his position by thesound of voices just outside. 

"No, no, Sir Edward. We must give her a little longer time, she willcome round soon to our opinion, " were the words he unmistakably heard. 

"But you promised her to me this Christmas, remember, " was the quickreply. 

"Aye, so I did, " returned the first speaker. "I would that I had notpromised her at all, she is so unhappy over it. "

"And I have laid my plans according to that promise, " rejoined hiscompanion. 

"We must allow her a little longer time, " replied the baron, decisively. "Manners has been again to flame her passion for him anew. She will be ready to accept thee soon, but not just yet. "

"I tell her John Manners has forsaken her, but she will persist in herwaywardness, and I expect, forsooth, she will do so until--"

"Tut, tut, man, " interposed Sir George, "it shall not be at Christmas, as we would have had it; but even as she comes not to her senses soon, you shall take her away. Say another month, Sir Edward, another month. There, that is settled, trouble me no more, and now we will off tomass. "

They were in the garden, and through the open lattice window Mannerscould hear them without the slightest trouble. At the mention of masshe abruptly closed his book, and replacing it in his pocket, he creptcarefully into the dismal hollow under the pulpit, and pulling thepanel to after him he hid himself securely in the dark recess. 

"So ho!" he murmured, as he fixed himself in his retreat; "the baronis good. Another month and then, oh! and then?"

He stopped and relapsed into thought. His brow contracted, his lipswere tightly pressed, and his eyes stared fixedly through the darknessof his retreat at the chinks of the panels in front, through which hecould see the place where his beloved would shortly sit. 

"Aye, aye, " he muttered, as he fiercely clapped his hand upon histhigh. "It cannot be the worse for her, nor yet much worse for me. Shemust do it; I will broach it to her now. Here they come. "

The pulpit was none too strong, and as Nicholas ascended the stair andshut the door, it distinctly shook and tottered to and fro over theesquire. 

"Why, by my halidame, " thought Manners, "the whole contrivance willfall down together and crush me. "

This fear was strengthened soon, for as the priest fixed himselfconveniently in his elevated position, the floor above the esquire'shead creaked and groaned and threatened every minute to fall. 

The service quickly began, much to Manners' relief; but oh, horrors!Father Nicholas began to preach, and by the time the lover expected tohave clasped his darling in his arms, the discourse was just gettinginto full swing. 

"Stop, Nicholas, in the name of mercy, stop, " he whispered through thefloor; but Nicholas heard him not, and quietly pursued the even tenourof his way. 

Another half-hour had elapsed, and the situation had become wellnigh intolerable. Apart from being cramped, Manners was uncomfortableenough. He felt that it would have immensely relieved him to havescreamed, but he dared not do it. He wanted to cough, or sneeze, buthe had to repress his feelings. The place in which he was boxed upwas damp and humid, and the darkness in which he was enveloped wasoppressive. He could bear it no longer, and raising himself up hegroped around with his hands, and easily lifting a piece of the oldpulpit flooring, he looked up at Nicholas and groaned. 

Nicholas involuntarily started at the sound, but recollecting thevoice, he screened his friend by his presence of mind. Without amoment's pause he stopped and indulged in a prolonged fit of coughing, while the little congregation, which had been startled by the groan, attributed the noise to a premonitory symptom of the attack, andthought no more about it. 

"For mercy's sake, stop, " muttered Manners. But the priest placidlyresumed his discourse, and drowned Manners' voice by his own. 

The sand-glass, which was affixed to the pulpit desk to mark the limitof the time allowed for the sermon, had long indicated that FatherNicholas was trespassing upon the indulgence of his hearers before hestopped; but it was over at last, and confession time had arrived. 

Well knew the wily preacher that the second part of the service wouldnot be prolonged. Sir George had never much to confess while therewas a good meal awaiting him, and what Lady Maude would have said uponsuch occasions was always cut short when the sermon had been long, andwas reserved for a more fitting occasion. 

Neither Sir Thomas Stanley nor his brother ever stayed for confession. They generally found some more attractive way of spending the time;and as soon as they could do so they slipped out, heartily cursing thelong-winded priest, and wishing that Sir George were not, by far, sogood a Catholic. 

Margaret stayed longer than the rest, and when her confession hadceased she kept the father and took occasion to consult him about themarriage ceremony. 

She went at last, and then it was Dorothy's turn. The way was oncemore open for the brave-hearted Manners to meet his betrothed again. 

"Stop!" exclaimed Nicholas, as Manners eagerly kissed the maiden'sblushing cheek. "Let Mistress Dorothy perform her duty first. "

There was no gainsaying this. The good father would not be arguedwith, and so Dorothy bended her knee, and in humble penitenceconfessed her misdeeds and prayed forgiveness for her sins. 

The confession, though well meant, was constrained and short. Themaiden was absent-minded, and though she would have entered into itwith heart and soul, she found herself unable to bend her will, andeven while confessing, her thoughts were fixed on her lover, whomshe knew was impatiently waiting to embrace her as soon as she hadfinished her devotions. 

"And now, my own peerless Doll, " said Manners, as she rose and came tohim, "at last I may talk with thee once more. "

"Yes, John, " replied the maiden, "at last! We have waited long forthis. "

"Nicholas, you will listen and warn us if anyone approaches, " saidManners. 

"I pray thee forget not that the time goes on apace, " replied theconfessor. "I will guard the door for thee. "

The lovers were alone; they were free to enjoy each other'scompany for a little while, and in a short time the sound of eagerconversation filled the room. 

"Come, now, 'tis time, " broke in the priest, after a long pause. "SirGeorge will be wondering at the long delay. "

"A minute more, Nicholas, a minute more, " was the excited reply. 

"Now, Doll, " Manners appealed, "I have told you all. What say you?"

"Not yet, John, not yet, " she demurely replied. 

"O, say not so, Doll, " he pleaded, "they will never relent. "

"I cannot do it, John; indeed, I cannot. I would refuse thee naughtsave this, but this I must refuse. "

Her lover looked at her sadly. "Then we may not see each other again, "he said, "till thou art Lady Stanley. "

"Nay, nay, " she replied quickly, "I shall never be that. My heartwould break first. I shall never be that. "

"Or I may be discovered, and--and then, Doll, what?"

"O don't, don't say that, " she cried. "You tear my heart. I cannot doit, John; at least--at least not now. "

"Mistress Dorothy, we must go now. I cannot, I dare not tarry anylonger, " said the priest as he came up and stood beside the lovers. "We must go at once. "

"A minute more, just a minute, Nicholas. "

"Nay, " he replied, "we must not linger any more. "

"Go, then, I will follow thee, " said Dorothy, and taking her ather word the father bowed himself low before the little altar anddeparted. 

"Not yet, " said Manners, "you cannot yet! Doll, it must come to this, and why not do it now?"

"Nay, nay, John, ask me not. I cannot, I cannot do it. Adieu, we shallmeet again soon, trust me till then"; and giving him a farewell kiss, she left him alone and hastened into the Hall. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE ANGELS OF LIFE AND DEATH. 

 He said no more, For at that instant flashed the glare, And with a hoarse, infernal roar, A blaze went up and filled the air! Rafters, and stones, and bodies rose In one quick gush of blinding flame, And down, and down, amidst the dark, Hurling on every side they came. 

 AYTOUN. 

Deep down in the rock upon which Nottingham Castle proudly stands, there winds a passage which was used in the centuries long gone by asthe readiest way of bringing the victuals in the castle, and which haslong been commonly accepted as the veritable "Mortimer's Hole. "

A man was busily engaged in arduous toil in one of the cavitieshollowed out in the very heart of the rock. It was the chamber inwhich the dissolute Mortimer and the faithless Isabella had beencaptured by the youthful monarch, Edward III. , two centuries anda half earlier, but no traces of its former grandeur--if it everpossessed any--now remained. It was changed into the abode of analchemyst, and as Edmund Wynne ever and anon tapped an iron vessel hiseyes sparkled with delight. 

The room was full of fumes and smoke. Phials of many shapes andvarious sizes were ranged around on every side, filled with liquids ofevery imaginable odour and hue. A long rude bench, which ran alongthe farther side of the room, was crowded with boxes of crystals, crucibles, and bottles, and, to complete the scene, a log fire wassmouldering away on the centre of the solid rock floor. 

Edmund had long sought the elixir of life, but it had proved asdelusive as a will-o'-the-wisp to him, and ever, just as he feltassured of success, the prize had slipped away from his grasp, leavinghim further away from success than he had been before. But now it wasnot the elixir that he was seeking to find. From trying to discoversomething that should rob the grave of its prey, he had turned hisattention towards the invention of an engine to hasten death. Hisheart was all aflame with the passion of revenge. The lord of Haddonhad incurred his intense and undying hatred. He had heaped indignitiesupon him; he had slain the object of his affections; and the disgraceinto which he had fallen at London was also ascribed, rightly orwrongly, to the baron. 

Baulked of his revenge hitherto, his passionate desire for it haddecreased rather than declined through his failures, and the very factof his failing was itself another charge for which the baron wouldhave to answer. Death, and death alone, would now be sufficient towipe out the stain, and Edmund had long cudgelled his wits to securethe destruction of his foe. 

"Aye, Edmund, Edmund, " exclaimed Sir Ronald Bury, as he broke in uponWynne's privacy, "at thy whimsical labours again, I see. "

"Nay, not whimsical, Ronald, " was the gentle reply. "My elixir isnearly right; only one ingredient more is wanted, and then!"

"And then, what?" laughed the knight. 

"Why, then I shall have discovered what all the sages of the earthhave sought in vain. "

"A toadstone, I suppose?" replied Sir Ronald, lightly. 

"Ha, you may laugh, Ronald, " said the astrologer, severely. "Foolsever did mock the wise, like the rich despise the poor. You are but asoldier, and I am a man of science--the great alchemyst! My name shalllive; yea, mark me, Ronald, it will be known and revered in time tocome, aye, even when this castle has crumbled into dust, and when thename of Roger Bacon has been long forgotten. "

"Well, Edmund, " responded the knight, gaily, "let us hope so; only onemore substance, eh?"

"Only one, " the enthusiast replied, while the look of triumph flashedalready from his eyes. 

"And then we shall--shall what, Edmund, what shall we do?"

"Live for ages. "

"For ever, in fact, I suppose?"

"My elixir will conquer disease, and man shall live until his feebleframe has worn away, " he responded grandly. 

"Lucky man, " soliloquised Sir Ronald, facetiously. "But the dames, Edmund, you said naught of them. Cannot you discover aught for them?Surely they may share the blessing also!"

"No more is wanted; my elixir will serve for both, " majesticallyresponded Edmund, as he placed a cauldron over the fire. He wastoo intensely in earnest himself to note that his companion wassceptically making fun of him. 

"And will soldiers live for ages, too?" continued Sir Ronald. 

"Those who are killed my elixir is impotent to bring back again tolife. The dead are beyond all aid. "

"And the wounded?" persisted the knight. 

"I can but stave off disease, Ronald; but what a glorious achievementhave I accomplished then! Methinks I see the glory now, and when I amin my grave, pilgrims shall come and worship at my shrine as theyhave done these centuries at the altar of St. Thomas the Martyr atCanterbury. What glory, what glory!" and in the exuberance of hisdelight, Edmund Wynne gleefully rubbed his hands together. 

"I am forgetting my errand, though, " exclaimed the deputy-governor, "Ihave a visitor for thee. "

Edmund quailed. He was not in the habit of receiving visitors, for hehad few friends and many enemies, therefore the announcement gave himvery little pleasure. 

"For me?" he said, in a tone of unmistakable surprise, and equallyunmistakable displeasure. 

"Aye, for thee, " Sir Ronald replied. "Shall I bring him to you?"

"Bring him down here?" screamed Edmund, aghast at the very idea. "No, never. "

"You will come up to him, then? It makes no matter!"

"I am too busy, " he evasively replied. "Tell me, Ronald, who it is. "

"'Tis a friend. "

"Humph! He has heard of my elixir and wants--ah, well, I shall havefriends enough now, I'll warrant me. "

"He is an enemy of Sir George Vernon, then, " added the knight. 

"Hey! Bring him down, then, " said the alchemyst. "I will meet himoutside the room. "

"Well, Master John Manners will be down by and bye. Lady Burymeanwhile is entertaining him, for he was hungry. "

Edmund started. 

"Manners, John Manners!" he exclaimed. "Nay, then, bring him nothither. Does he know that I am here?"

"Aye, I have told him. "

"You have!" ejaculated Edmund, in a frenzy of terror. "I met him atHaddon, he is a friend of the baron's. "

"He was, " replied his friend; "but things have changed, and now he islike to invoke thy aid. He will help us to have our revenge, maybe, for I have been persuading him; he is very bitter now against theVernons, and will make thee a good accomplice. "

"Revenge, " murmured Edmund, "ha! revenge is sweet. The baron shall bepunished; my machine--"

"Never mind the machine now, " broke in Sir Ronald, who was by no meansanxious to listen to the well-worn rigmarole again. "You can showthat to him, and tell him all about it. I shall bring him down, for heknows not the way. "

"Well, I will yield to thee; do as you list, " he replied, and the manof science turned his back abruptly upon his friend, and vigorouslystirred the seething liquid which was beginning to boil over upon thefire. 

In a few minutes Manners appeared, but Sir Ronald Bury had brought himpurposely with so little noise that the alchemyst was not aware of hispresence, and for a long time they stood in the doorway, and watchedhis movements. 

He was talking to himself, as he often did. It was a habit into whichhe had unconsciously fallen. He had persuaded himself to think thatthe great posterity for which he laboured so hard could hear him, andin his isolation the reflection was a great consolation to him. 

"Ha, ha, " he muttered, "thou hast had thy little day, Sir GeorgeVernon. 'King of the Peak, ' indeed--thy reign is o'er. And Margaret, proud Margaret, and the haughty Lady Maude, aha! You shall all trembleat my name. "

"Hist, move thee not, " whispered Sir Ronald, "he is, about to test hisengine again; it blows off sparks of fire as if it were the smithy'sforge, but without the noise. I have seen him perform with it often. Hark. "

Edmund had brought out his engine from a deep recess in the wall, anda rough, unsightly piece of mechanism it was. It was intended to besquare, but constant testings and trials had caused it to assume morethe appearance of an octagon, and as the sides had thus bulged out, the bands which had held the instrument together became loosened anduntrustworthy. 

Edmund surveyed it affectionately. It was the offspring of his genius, and he blindly disregarded all its little imperfections amid the greatlove he bore towards it. 

"Aha, " he murmured, "thou art done, thou art ready now. Thou art anangel of death, and thou"--turning to his elixir--"thou art an angelof life. "

"Mix them up, Nathan, mix them up, " gaily exclaimed Manners as hestepped into the room. "We will give the Vernons a dose. "

Edmund was startled, and he hastily retreated to his engine to protectit. 

"Avaunt!" he cried, "touch it not. "

"Nay, I want not to injure it, " returned the other, whose smilecontrasted with the alchemyst's scowl. "Shake hands, man; I will dothee no harm. "

"Beware, " cried Edmund, distrustfully, as he covered over the angel. "Beware!"

"Edmund, thou speakest over rashly, " interposed Sir Ronald. "MasterManners would honour thee, and thou treatest him so lightly. Togetheryou may accomplish your designs and work whatever you will; thepast--"

"Is buried with its forefathers and forgotten, " quickly exclaimedManners. "Come, I greet thee on equal terms. I would be thy friend. "

Edmund shook the proffered hand as though it were a bar of red-hotiron he had been commanded to hold, or a phial of his precious elixirhe was carrying, and he felt by no means flattered at the referenceto their equality, just as if he, too, had discovered such mightysecrets. 

"I shall not want for friends soon, forsooth; the great have evermany, " he replied. 

Manners laughed. 

"Thou hast few enough as yet, I'll warrant, besides thy good friend, Sir Ronald, " he exclaimed. "I trow you cannot well afford to turn thefirst comers away, Nathan. "

"I can do all with my elixir, " was the proud response. 

"Sir Ronald Bury tells me thou hast prepared this engine forSir George, " said Manners, abruptly changing the topic of theconversation. "Is that so?"

"Aha, for Sir George Vernon, yes. "

"Can'st thou direct it against the Stanleys, too? I would have thempunished if we could. "

"Thou art a friend of his, " said Edmund, suspiciously, referring tothe baron. 

"Albeit I seek revenge, justice, anything!" he said bitterly. "I havebeen spurned away from his door like as I had been a dog. "

Edmund looked at him incredulously. He was not convinced yet. 

"If you mean no treachery, " he said cautiously, "call me by my name, for I am Edmund Wynne. I like not to bethink me of the past until--, "and he approvingly looked at his instrument of death. 

"Until what?"

"Ha, I will show thee, " replied Edmund. "Stand not too near. "

Manners had not much faith in the destructive properties of theinstrument, but the command was given in such an earnest andauthoritative fashion that to have refused compliance would only havecaused offence. Probably, too, Edmund would not try the experimentif he expressed his scepticism, and he was curious to see it, so heretreated to the doorway to watch his movements. 

"This, " Edmund went on, "is to be put in the baron's room. "

"Yes, but how?" asked Manners, perceiving that some sort of a remarkwas expected of him. 

"Cannot I, who have invented it, find some means for conveying theengine there?" replied the inventor, with staggering emphasis. 

Manners deferentially bowed his acquiescence, much to the amusement ofSir Ronald. 

"You must not heed his words, " whispered the knight. "He is infatuatedwith his work. In all things else he is as timid as a mouse. "

"And then, " pursued the mighty alchemyst, "and then--! Nay, I willshow thee, see!" and with some difficulty he forced open a little doorat the side. 

Both Manners and Sir Ronald moved forward to examine it, for the roomwas but faintly lighted and they could barely see the dim outline ofthe instrument. 

"Go back, go back, " screamed Edmund. "Ronald, I look for no treacheryfrom thee. "

"Tush, " contemptuously replied the knight, as he poured some more oilinto the lamp, "get on. We did but want to see. "

"This, " continued Edmund, unabashed, "is more dreadful than RogerBacon's powder;" and pulling out a short, stout iron canister, hepoured some crystals into a hole. "Look and behold, " he added. "Iinvoke no saints, nor do I seek the aid of any deity, but see;" androlling some of the crystals tightly up in some parchment, he droppedit into the midst of the fire. 

For a few moments nothing was seen or heard of it, and the onlookerswere smiling to each other when the wonderful crystals began tosplutter and fizz, till the packet suddenly exploded with a loudreport, rattling the bottles and jars together, while the rumblingreport rolled up the long subterranean passage. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Edmund, triumphantly. "You shudder at the sight; thatis nothing, I can do infinitely more than that. I will do it with morecrystals now. "

"Nay, we are convinced of thy prowess; when the fumes have clearedaway, show us this engine, " replied Manners. "It is full of wheels;show us their purpose. "

"That shook this chamber, " Edmund replied, "but this could well nighshatter it. "

"Great man, we acknowledge thy mighty genius, " responded Sir Ronald. "Reveal the limit of thy powers. "

"I will, " said Edmund, enthusiastically, "I will. "

All his reserve was worn off now, and he expatiated at length upon thewonderful powers of his mighty engine. No such power had been knownbefore; nothing would stand against it; it was indeed a miracle offorce. 

"But, prithee, " asked Manners, heartily sick of the ceaselessexplanations, and anxious to see the practical outcome of it all, "howworketh it? Show us, let it move this piece of rock. "

"You doubt me; I will show it thee; I will test it but this onceagain, and then the baron, curse him! dies. "

Edmund busied himself for some time in compounding some evil-smellingingredients in a huge mortar, and, as he stirred the pestle round andround, the contents hissed and crackled, and emitted sparks of fire. At length, after many bottles had been partially emptied, and manypowders and the like had been employed, the mysterious substance wasobtained, and he sprinkled a little of it upon the red embers, when aseries of miniature explosions followed. 

"Look, see!" he passionately exclaimed, "I have discovered somethingstill more powerful; nay, stand back. I found it once before, but lostthe art. Now we shall see; hey, hey. "

Slowly and cautiously the canister was replaced; the requisite powderwas carefully measured and inserted, and after many an examination hadbeen made, Edmund declared that everything was in readiness for thewheels to be set in motion. 

"Stand back, venture not too near, " he commanded, and placing a heavypiece of loose rock upon the case, he set the wheels in motion andstepped back proudly behind his handiwork. 

"Thou shalt be convinced shortly, Master Manners, " he exclaimed. "Ha, ha, I shall have many friends soon. None know the power I have at mycommand, and princes and queens will court me to possess it. I caneither kill or keep alive, my elixir--"

His voice was lost in the din of a great explosion. Bottles and jarswere rattled together and smashed. The chamber was full of smoke andflame. Everything was suddenly thrown into frightful disorder, all wasin confusion. Solid masses of rock were detached from the walls androof, and went crashing across the room, destroying everything withwhich they came into contact, or else burst through the wall andbounded down the steep rock outside. The very room seemed to spinaround, and Sir Ronald and Manners were thrown headlong upon thepavement of the passage outside. 

What could it all mean?

Simply that the engine had done its work. Edmund had overcharged it, and it had exploded. The angel of death had slain its creator, and thewonderful elixir of life was lost to the world for ever. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

STOLEN SWEETS. 

 All close they met again, before the dusk Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil; Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk, Unknown of any, from whispering tale. Ah! better had it been for ever so, Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe. 

 KEATS. 

It was within a week off Christmas, and at Haddon all was in confusionand disorder amid the preparations for the forthcoming wedding. Manners had now relinquished all hope of Sir George ever relenting, and he waited with feverish impatience the time when, once more, hemight clasp his darling to his heart, and pour again into her ears theoft-told story of his undiminished love. 

He longed to see her again, or to be seen by her, even though no wordswere spoken; for he had been away awhile, and though he had biddenRoger send Dorothy word of his absence through Lettice, yet he fearedlest the message had not been delivered, and she would feel alarmed athis being away. 

Ill news awaited his return. Dorothy was to go away with Margaret, for she was ill, and Benedict had prescribed a change of air. He wasdesperate, and in his desperation he was prepared to hazard anythingwhich promised the remotest chance of success; but alas! his ventures, while resulting harmlessly, brought him no nearer the goal of hisambition than he had been before. 

"Roger, " he said, "I shall get me to the Hall. Lettice should comesoon; bid her hasten back and tell her mistress I am there awaitingher. "

"Aye, I will tell her, " replied the honest woodsman, "but methinks itis a sorry chance. Thou art far more likely to be discovered thanto succeed, for there be many folks at the Hall, and few dare to befriends of thine. "

"Nevertheless, I shall attempt it, good Roger; dissuade me not. "

"Faith, not I. 'Tis not for such as me to interfere. Thou art brave, Master Manners, and art worthy of success; may it come to thee, say I. But the Hall is full big to seek each other in; where shalt thou be?"

"In the dining-room. "

"In the dining-room!" quoth Roger, in surprise. "The dining-room!Thou'lt surely never look there? 'Tis as bare of hiding places as theflat of my hand. Why not in the archer's room, or the tower?"

"I shall hide me behind the arras till she comes, " replied Manners. 

"The arras, " laughed his companion, "why it will bulge out like themonuments in Bakewell Church; the first who comes will spy thee out. Take my advice, master, and wait in the tower. Why, the buttery weresafer than the dining-room. "

"Tut, I shall go, " he replied; "there is more to hide one than you wotof, but my Dorothy knows it, and I shall meet her there;" and pickingup a bundle of wood he started off to the Hall. 

He was not long upon the way, and when he arrived at his destinationthere was no difficulty in getting into the kitchens, for he had beenthere scores of times before, and his was quite a familiar figure now. 

"Ho, Hubert, " called one of the busy cooks as he entered the room, "lend a hand with this steer; thou hast the strength of a bullock, Iverily believe. "

Manners dropped the wood and good-naturedly lent the desiredassistance. 

"An thou would'st chop it with this cleaver thou wert a good fellow, "continued the cook, as, having got the beast upon the bench, hesurveyed its goodly proportions, and handed the cleaver to hisnewly-found helpmate. 

"Nay, I am no butcher, I am but a woodsman, and should cut it wrong, I fear, " returned Manners, as he laid the chopper down. "Were it atree--"

"Now, come, " interrupted the cook, persuasively. "I am wearied out;I have no strength left in my arm. See you, here, here, and here, andthe thing is done. "

"I will do it an you will serve me a good turn, too?" he replied. 

"Done, then, " said the other; "what is it?"

"Show me the Hall; I have long wished to see the ballroom. 'Tis a fineroom, Roger says. "

"Fine!" exclaimed the cook. "I should think it is fine. There's notanother in all Queen Elizabeth's land to equal it. I will show it theeafterwards. "

"Help me with this sack of flour, " exclaimed the baker, "and I willshow it thee now. "

Manners chopped the carcase up, for which he was promised a share ofthe pie, and quickly satisfied the baker. His strength, indeed, waswonderful, and what two bakers had failed to do together, he easilyaccomplished alone. 

"Thou shalt have a cake to-night, " exclaimed the baker, admiringly. "A milk-white cake hot off the hearthstone, such as my lord the baronloveth so well, " and they passed through the stone-flagged passageinto the banqueting-room beyond to see the wonders of the Hall. 

"Nay, " exclaimed the chamberlain, as they attempted to pass up thesteps leading to the upper part of the Hall. "'tis against the rules, you know. "

"All right, John, 'tis all right, " replied the baker. "Hubert is goingto help me, and you cannot stay me, I trow, or Lady Vernon will comeupon thee about the cakes for the feast. "

There was no gainsaying this argument, for John stood in mortal fearof his mistress, and at the mention of her name he stepped aside andallowed them to pass by. 

"John likes to be flattered, " laughed the baker, as the door closedupon them, "but I use a different weapon. I speak of Lady Vernon, andhe always yields. "

"I saw he was there, " replied Manners, "else I had needed noassistance to pass through. He despises us, I verily believe, and likes to show his power. So this is the ballroom, eh? 'Tis amagnificent room, surely, " he exclaimed in well-feigned innocence. 

"The ballroom!" laughed the other, contemptuously. "No, this is butthe dining-room. Come, I will show thee the ballroom. "

"I would linger here awhile, " responded Manners, with charmingsimplicity, "this tapestry takes my fancy so; and the ceiling, withsuch quaint devices. Nay, there can be naught to better this, Iswear. "

"Then you must stay alone, for I am busy, " replied his companion. 

This was exactly what Manners wanted, and as he offered no opposition, the baker left him alone on the threshold of the ballroom, andreturned to attend to his duties. 

It was a matter of little difficulty to find the hiding, place, forManners knew it well, and pulling the arras aside, he slid an old oakpanel along and stepped into the cavity it disclosed to await withas much patience as he could command the well-known footstep of hisbeloved. 

A long time he waited; each passing footstep caused his heart toflutter with expectation, only, however, to leave it to quieten indisappointment as the sounds receded and died away in the echoingballroom above, or else mingled, maybe, in the turmoil of the busykitchens below. No Dorothy appeared, and his heart at last began tofail. 

"Surely she will not come, " he murmured at length. "Lettice cannothave been, " and his spirit sank within him at the thought. He was coldand fatigued, and once being infected with the idea that he was doomedto disappointment, he quickly discovered all the discomforts ofhis position and aggravated his misery by adding to them by his ownimagination. 

He had made up his mind to depart, and was about to put his resolutioninto practice, when a gentle voice broke the stillness of the room. Heheld his breath to listen. There was surely someone at the door, forhe heard the handle turn; it creaked upon its hinges, and a momentlater a gentle step resounded on the floor, and he knew that he wasnot alone. Could it be Dorothy? He pushed the door of his retreat ajarand listened intently, but only the responsive throbbing of his ownheart could he hear. 

"Doll!" he exclaimed. 

There was no reply. 

"Doll, " he repeated, in a little louder tone as he pushed door andtapestry aside and entered the room. "Doll!"

"It is not Dorothy, Master Manners, " replied a gentle voice, "it is I, Lettice, her maid. "

His heart stood still; chilled with despair. 

"Where is she?" he cried. "Tell me, will she come?"

"Nay, she cannot come; Dame Maude is with her, getting ready for thefeast. 

"And Dorothy cannot come, " he repeated, with downcast eyes. "Hast thouseen her; has she had my message?"

"One may not speak with her when my lady is there, " said the maid, "but she read it in my eyes. I would, Master Manners, I could helpthee more, but I fear that cannot be. "

"Bid her keep her tryst to-night, Lettice, " he replied, "and thou wiltserve thee well. "

"I fear me she cannot. Oft has she tried and failed; she is watchedtoo well. An she were to pass the gate alone the whole Hall would knowof it. "

"Look, then, Lettice, could you come?"

Lettice often had done so before to meet her own stalwart young loverin the privacy of the wood, and she blushed at the question. 

"I come?" she replied, "happen I might were I but to speak to thechamberlain first. "

"Speak to him, then, for mercy's sake, speak, " replied the lover, quickly. "Lend Doll your hood and shawl, none will know the differencein the dark. Tell the porter to expect you. There, adieu; fail me not, good Lettice, " and without leaving her time to make reply herushed hastily out of the room, and left her alone to carry out hisinstructions as best she could. 

Dusk was rapidly deepening into darkness when John Manners stole outof his humble abode to wend his way to the old trysting place, whitherhe had been so frequently of late. His progress was watched by a pairof eager, jealous eyes, as their owner silently but surely doggedhis every footstep; and when the tree was reached at last Manners laywearily down at its foot, fully resolved not to depart from thenceuntil he had brought matters to a crisis. At the same moment thefigure of a young man glided stealthily into the cover of a bushwithin a few yards of where the other lay. Manners was not aware ofthe fact; he had neither seen nor heard his pursuer, and in happyignorance of the circumstance he awaited Dorothy's appearance. 

The night was chilly, for the snow had just departed from off theground, and the fast gathering leaden clouds threatened to quicklycover it over again; but, buoyed up with hope and excitement, Mannersheeded it not. Quietly, but not calmly, he lay, impatiently awaitingthe coming of his love. 

At last she came, but she approached so silently that her lover wasnot aware of her presence until she spoke. 

"John, " she exclaimed, "I am here. "

He was upon his feet in an instant. 

"My darling, my beloved;" he cried, as he rapturously embraced her inhis arms. "This is good of thee, 'tis more than I deserve. "

"Say not so, " she replied. "I would do aught for thy dear sake. I haveendured much for thee, but I have been happy in it because it was forthee. "

"Thou would'st do aught for me, my precious one?" cried Manners. "Ihave much to ask of thee. 'Tis well for me thou art so ready. Noneshall part us, Doll. "

"No, never, " she replied, firmly. 

"Then, Dorothy, we must flee together. "

"What!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Leave Haddon?"

"Hush, Doll, I fear it must be so. "

"Oh, John, " she sobbed, "I cannot do it, indeed I cannot do it. Isthere no other way? Have you no other plan?"

"Sir George will never relent, " Manners replied, "and in anothermonth--"

"Nay, nay, John, I have refused the one, I am resolved not to wed theother. "

There was a painful pause for a minute or two, but at length Mannersspoke. His voice trembled and betrayed the depth of his feelingsplainly. 

"'Tis a hard choice, Doll, " he said, "but you must choose betwixtHaddon and me. If you say me nay, I shall lose you. "

"Wait, John, you can trust me?" she sobbed. 

"Aye, that I can, " he returned, tenderly; "but the flower iswithering, and will soon be gone. This face was not so pale nor yetso thin before. Dorothy, I cannot see thee droop like this before myeyes. "

"You can trust me, " she replied; "then wait awhile. "

"And then; what then?"

"If they are against us then, I will do thy will and go with thee. "

"Nay, Doll, I should lose thee, and that would break my heart; it mustbe yes or no, there is no other way of escape. "

Dorothy bowed her head upon his shoulders while the tears ran freelydown her cheeks, and Manners stood over her, his breast heaving infierce thrills of mingled emotions. 

"Choose for thine own happiness, Doll, " he whispered, breaking againanother painful spell of silence. 

"I cannot leave my father so--and Margaret, " she added, after a pause. 

"Margaret will leave thee soon enough, " replied her lover, "and SirGeorge would wed thee to Sir Edward Stanley in a month. Thou wilt haveto leave them soon, anyhow--why not with me? I would brave the worldfor thy sake. "

"I know it, " she replied, "but I cannot say 'yes. ' Do not persuade me, I will give thee an answer in a little while. 

"I have made arrangements, " Manners answered. "Everything is ready. Weshall go to Nottingham; all our plans are laid ready for the wedding. "

"I cannot refuse thee, John, " whispered Dorothy, as she dried hertears, "but I cannot consent--not yet, at least. Lettice shall bringthee word. "

"So be it, then, " he said. "Kiss me, Doll, it may be for the lasttime; an you decide to stay, I shall go to the wars again. "

"Hush, your words are over loud, John. If you go, I die. Listen!"

Manners needed not the injunction, for someone was unmistakablyrushing towards them. He turned, and faced the intruder. 

"Hold!" he cried, "or you shall rue it. Stand back, " he added, as thefigure of a man ran towards Dorothy. 

"Lettice, " exclaimed the other, "could I think this of thee? I hadtrusted thee better. What have I done that thou should'st treat methus? As for thee--" he said, turning to Manners. 

"Tut, man, doff thy cap, " interrupted the latter. "This is MistressDorothy Vernon. "

"Thou hast met here often enough before, " continued the unbelievingWill, "but I'll warrant me this shall be the last time. MistressDorothy, indeed! A likely story that; but I know that hood too well tobe deceived. You are Sir Edward Stanley, or Master Manners, perchance, I suppose. Roger Morton shall know of this. "

"Lettice is in the hall, " said Dorothy. "I know thou art to betrusted, Will, for Lettice ofttimes speaks of thee. This is MasterManners. Hush! not a word, tell it not to anyone. "

It was the voice of Dorothy, beyond dispute, and not the voice ofLettice, and the astonished youth dropped down upon his knees and suedforgiveness. 

"And you knew me not?" asked Manners, as he clapped his companionfamiliarly upon the back. "I deceived thee, then? Have not the othersfound out my disguise? Methinks they have looked at me askance oflate. "

The young woodsman rubbed his eyes to convince himself that it was areality, and that it was not a vivid dream. 

"Nay, " he replied, at length; "they said thou wert seeking to rob meof my Lettice, for we knew thee not. "

"I am a craftsman still, " returned Manners, "mind you tell them not. There, I shall rejoin thee soon. "

Lettice's lover took the hint and departed, not at all loth to get outof the way, and feeling mightily relieved that things happened to beas they were, and were not any worse. 

"Doll, " said her lover, as the retreating sound died away in thedistance, "we have another friend in him. Do thou tell this toLettice, happen it will enliven her. I will not press thee for thyanswer now; we shall love each other to the end, I know. Rememberthis, Doll, thy happiness as well as mine is at stake. Sir Georgecannot take back his words even though he repent them. He cannotrelent, for he has promised thee, and he is the very soul of honour, but, an we please ourselves, he cannot help it, and all will comeright. Nay, interrupt me not, I have weighed my words, there willnever be such another chance for us to flee. There, now, thou knowestall I can tell thee, thou shalt decide anon. "

Dorothy was silent, but if looks had speech, she had pleadedeloquently. Her resolution swayed to and fro in the terrible struggleof her affection: her soul was riven. She was too happy in the companyof her lover to say him nay, and yet, at the same time, the bond oflove which drew her to her father was far too strong to be suddenlysnapped. 

"I must go, " she said, at last, "but whether it be aye or whether itbe nay, in life and in death I am thine alone. Kiss me, John, and letme go. "

Manners was deeply agitated. He took her face in both his hands, andstooping down, he kissed her again and again. 

"It may be the last time, " he said, "but trust me, Doll, I am onlythine. I shall keep my love-troth true. Keep a stout heart, my sweetone, and by my faith we shall be happy yet. "

They had approached the Hall as near as was safe, and now the momentfor parting had arrived Dorothy tried to speak, but her heart was toofull, and words failed to come at her command. She listened to herlover's last injunction to keep up a brave heart, and wringing hishands in agonised silence, she gathered her cloak around her, andhastened into the Hall. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE TOKEN. 

 And whilst the feast progressed apace, The music swelled in joyous strain; But midst the group was one fair face That scarcely hid the look of pain. And ever and anon she looked away; And when the others went she turned to stay. 

Early next morning, as Manners was engaged in collecting faggotsfor the hungry fires at the Hall, he was startled to hear himselfaddressed by his proper name. 

He turned round aghast, but was reassured when he saw that it was noneother than Lettice's lover who stood by his side. 

"Hush, Will, " he said, "call me Hubert still; it were dangerous for myname to be overheard. But thou hast news for me, I can read it in thyface. "

"Aye, " replied the youth, "Mistress Dorothy sent Lettice with amessage for thee, but old Roger knew not where thou would'st befound. "

"Where is it?" cried the lover, impatiently, "let me see it; 'tis theanswer, I'll warrant me. "

"Nay, I have it not. Lettice awaits thee at the hut; she would noteven let me bring it to thee, for her mistress, she says, charged herto tell it to none but thee. "

"At the hut, " repeated Manners, as he started to return. Is she therenow?"

"She is awaiting thee; but, Master Manners, let me crave a favourfirst. "

"Quick, then, " was the hasty reply, "tell me what it is, for I cannotwait. "

"Lettice has been rating me well, " returned the downcast lover, ashe started to return with Manners. "She is angered against me that Ifollowed thee last night. She will not look at me now, and if I openmy mouth about it she swears she will speak to me no more. A word fromthee, good sir, would set the matter right again, else I fear me Ihave lost her favour, and there be many round about who would gladlytake my place. "

"Oh, " laughed Manners, "I will see to that, and happen you may do mesome good service in return?"

"Aye, master, that I will, " he replied, mightily relieved. 

Manners said no more; his mind was too much occupied, his thoughtswere bubbling within him in furious turmoil. Leaving his companionbehind, he rushed hastily on, and never stayed his course until he hadreached his destination. 

"The letter, Lettice, the letter, " he cried, as he entered the hut. 

"Nay, I have no letter, Master Manners, " replied the maid. "My ladybid me tell it thee instead. "

"What is it? Is it yes, or no?" he cried. 

"Neither, yet. My mistress went all through the weary night, andthought of naught else but thee and the answer she should give. "

"Poor Doll, " ejaculated her lover, tenderly. "'Tis time all this wasended, Lettice; she is fading away, yes, fading away, and what willcome of it all, if she says me nay, I tremble to think. "

"She will not say thee nay, though, Master Manners, " replied Lettice. "I shall lose my mistress soon. She has told me all. "

"Told thee all?" he echoed. "She will not say me nay, and yet sheconsents not! You speak in riddles. Come, explain it all. "

"She knoweth not her mind as yet, " explained the maiden, "but I canplainly see which way it will all end. Even as she poured her storyout to me I could see it; I could read it in her sobs and sighs. Shehad not wept so long had she not loved thee so well; and her love forthee is stronger than her other loves, else she had obeyed my lord thebaron by now. It needs no astrologer to tell all this. "

"Heaven grant it may be so, " replied Manners, fervently; "but what didmy Dorothy bid thee say? Thy words have made a sore commotion in myheart, fair Lettice. "

Lettice hung down her head and blushed at the unexpected compliment. 

"Thou art to come to the feast to-night, " she replied, "and my ladywill give thee answer there. "

"I shall be there, Lettice, " he promptly returned. "Tell her I shallnot fail her. But how shall I see her, has she thought of that?"

"We have arranged it all, good sir; thou hast but to do her bidding, and all will go well. "

She did not say that Dorothy had been too distracted in mind to makeany arrangements whatever, but, as a matter of fact, this duty haddevolved entirely upon the maid, for her mistress had done littlemore than nod assent through her tears to all the propositions ofher companion. It was the ready wit of Lettice which had proposedeverything at just the time when Dorothy was quite unable to suggestanything for herself. 

"The wedding ceremony will take place in four more days, " Letticecontinued, "and the feasting begins to-night. "

Manners was aware of the fact, and he bowed his head in silentacquiescence. 

"And thou art to come to the Hall, " pursued the maid. "Thou artskilful on the lute, my mistress says. "

"I can play the lute, " he answered, "but what of that? Will she pipeme an answer back?"

"Nay, Master Manners, listen. Thou art to be a musician for the once, and must join the minstrels in the gallery. "

"In the banqueting-room! Then I must seek a fresh disguise, " hesaid. "Hey, Lettice, I would it were night already, the day willdrag wearily enough for me, I trow; but I shall look for my rewardto-night. Thou art sure of what thou hast told me, Lettice, for wereshe to refuse me after all, it were hard indeed!"

"Trust me, I am not like to be deceived; she wears her heart upon hersleeve. Unless she changes, I have told thee aright, but my lady neverchanges in her love. Ah, me, I shall lose my mistress soon, and I amsad to think of it. "

"Nay, Lettice, " interposed Manners, "thou shalt marry honest Will, andhe shall be my chamberlain. Thou shalt be near Dorothy yet. "

The maid's countenance flushed with joy at the prospect of such bliss. 

"That were happiness, indeed, " she cried, "for or! Master Manners, Ilove her; I cannot help it--who could? I love her dearly; to part fromher--"

"Aye, " interrupted Manners, "who could help it indeed. Tell her Ishall see her, I shall be there. "

"And if it be 'yes, ' my mistress will drop her fan upon the floor, "went on Lettice; "but if the answer is 'no' she will tie a blackribbon on it. Thou must watch well, but it will surely fall. "

"Amen, " said Manners. "Then I should be the happiest man on all theearth. "

"But happen my lady will not be there, " the maid went on. 

The lover groaned at the thought, and interrupted the maiden by sodoing. 

"Well, then, " she continued, "either will I give thee a letter, or, if that cannot be, thou must go to Bakewell Church to-morrow eve, andthou shalt find the letter squeezed behind the font. But there, I mustaway; the day will pass all too quickly for me, for I have much todo. "

"Stay, " he exclaimed, and plucking a sprig of holly from the bushwhich grew beside the door, he placed it in the maiden's hand. 

"Give her this, " he said, "and tell her it came from me. Bid her keepa stout heart within her; she must smile to-night. "

Lettice took the little bunch of green and red, and making areverential curtsey to her lady's lover, she hastened away towards theHall; and, as Manners watched her retreating figure, he saw the formof a man step out from among the bushes and join her company. It washer lover, who had waited with an anxious heart to discover the effectof the promised mediation. 

True to his promise, Manners presented himself at the appointed timeat the door of the orchestra, though not without inward misgivings asto the character of the reception in store for him. He need, however, have had no apprehension on that score, for everything had beenconveniently arranged. The leader of the musicians (they wereprincipally hired Derby men) had been bribed, and when the esquirepresented himself for admittance he was warmly greeted. 

"Well, Ralph!" exclaimed that worthy as he almost wrung Manners'hands off in the heartiness of his embrace; "thou hast come to thyold friend again, eh? We must cement the friendship this time witha tankard of Haddon-brewed ale, and if thou hast not greatly alteredsince I knew thee last, thou'lt not be averse to that. "

"Of course not, " replied Manners, readily; "and these are all freshmen? I cannot see one of the old faces among them all. "

"They are good fellows, though, " returned their leader, proudly, "andthey play right well. Ha! here comes a messenger. "

The musicians, most of whom had until now been idly leaning over thebalcony, gazing, with an interest of which they were not fully aware, at the servants below as they were putting the finishing strokes tothe preparation of the feast, immediately took their allotted places, and Manners found himself at the end of the row within the shadow ofthe wall, and separated from the rest by the intervening body of theleader. 

"The baron sends this for the musicians, " said the page, as hedeposited a large pitcher of ale upon the gallery floor. "They arecoming now, and he would like some merry tunes. "

Even as the lad spoke the guests came pouring into the room; laughing, joking, talking; almost all of them in the merriest possible mood. 

Manners scrutinised their faces keenly, and he thought with regret ofthe time not long ago, when he too had been one of the happiest of allthe merry guests of just such another party. But where was Doll? Hecould not see her anywhere, and so intent was he on searching for hisbeloved, that the blast of the trumpets by his side startled him andmade him fairly jump with surprise. 

Mechanically he took his instrument up. The tune was simple and heknew it well, but even as he played his eye wandered from the sheetbefore him to scan the merry throng below. 

Ha! there she was. He discovered her at last, but her gait was livelyand her dress was amongst the gayest of the gay; and as she enteredleaning upon Sir Edward Stanley's arm she wore a smile upon her face. His heart misgave him at the sight. Had Lettice deceived him? For amoment he entertained the thought, and he cursed the hope which shehad planted in his heart, and then in a fear of anxiety he lay thelute down and looked to find the fatal bow of black. 

What was it he saw? His gaze was rivetted upon her dress, by the sideof which hung the long fan. His eyes seemed to dance about, his headswam, and, before he could determine the question, Dorothy had passedby and taken her place at the table. 

Father Nicholas asked a blessing which was even longer and morewearisome than his predecessor had indulged in, and the occupants ofthe gallery took advantage of the long interval to quaff thegreater portion of the refreshing beverage which Sir George, withcharacteristic generosity, had sent up to them. 

The prayer had a conclusion though, and when the good father reachedit the fact was signalised by an unanimous, if not very sincere "amen"from the guests, while the band struck up another lively tune. 

Throughout the meal the musicians had little rest. One tune was playedand immediately another was struck up to take its place, and the gaycompany at the tables laughed and chattered the while with the utmostvivacity and glee. 

For Manners it was a weary time! There appeared to be no end to thesuccession of dishes, and he impatiently waited for the time when thesignal would be given which would give him unbounded joy or doom himto perpetual misery. To him, at least, the time dragged wearily along, the tunes were lifeless, the courses were inordinately long, andit was a positive relief to him when Nicholas rose up again andpronounced a benediction, equally as long and dreary as the openinggrace. 

The feast was over now, and as the guests defiled out of the room, another air took the place of the one just concluded. As for Manners, all his efforts were concentrated on watching Dorothy's everymovement. He ceased to play, for he had not the heart to continue, and, without making any pretence to be playing his instrument, he laidhis lute down and watched with eager eyes. 

He noticed that his rival sat by her side, nor did she repel him. When she arose he rose too, and together they started to go out of thechamber. Dorothy lingered; Stanley lingered too. What, O what couldshe be lingering for? In his anxiety Manners stood up to see thebetter. His pulse moved in jerks and bounds; his heart rose to histhroat, and he gasped for very breath. 

The lively tune pursued the even tenour of its way; the burly form ofthe leader screened him well from view, and that functionary was toomuch engrossed in the execution of the piece to remark the peculiarconduct of his companion. 

Dorothy lingered to look at the pictures she knew so well; but SirEdward tarried at her side. It was evident he was not at all disposedto leave her, and Dorothy herself at last gave up all hopes of hisdoing so. 

Sir Edward said something to her, but the noise drowned the sound ofhis voice, and Manners could not hear what it was he had said, but thenext moment she permitted Stanley to lead her towards the door. The poor minstrel's heart sank at the sight. Was this, then, thefulfilment of Lettice's promise? Had he so misjudged the characterof his beloved? He dismissed the thought, for he could not believe iteven then. 

No, it was not so. Dorothy paused and turned back. Mannersinvoluntarily stood up and followed her with his eyes. Margaret andher betrothed were behind, and to them she went. His spirits revivedagain. 

She laughingly raised her fan and pointed to the carving on the wall. 

Was the black knot on? He gasped for breath as he anxiously looked tosee. It surely was not there. At all events he could not see it, butthen his eyes might be deceiving him, for she was at the further endof the room. Ah! would she only drop the fan which was held up in hertrembling hand, and then--

With a clatter the fan dropped upon the pavement. Sir Edward gallantlystooped down and returned it to its fair owner, but Manners waited tosee no more. She was his; the signal had been given, and pickingup his instrument he set to and contributed as good a share to thegladsome melody as any of his fellows. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

PLAIN JOHN MANNERS WINS HIS BRIDE. 

 One touch of her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door the charger stood near: So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur, They'll have fleet steeds that follow, " quoth young Lochinvar. 

 SCOTT. 

Fast waxed the fun at Haddon, and loud above the strains of music rosethe sounds of merriment in the grand old Hall. 

It was the bridal night. Margaret Vernon had redeemed hertroth-plight, given to Sir Thomas Stanley early in the summer, and inthe former part of the day she had been joined in holy wedlock withher lover by Father Nicholas Bury, with more of the Roman Catholicritual than Queen Elizabeth's ministers would have approved of hadthey known it. 

Never had Haddon been so full of visitors before. Never had it been sogay. None who came had been turned away. The baron kept an open house, and whilst the rooms of the Hall were strained to the uttermost tofind accommodation for the numerous guests, the gate had been throngedthroughout the livelong day by an eager crowd of expectant beggars, none of whom had gone away with empty hands. 

But now the night was closing in, and the visitors were determined tomake the most of it. Sir George was almost ubiquitous. Here, there, wherever the mirth was loudest, there the form of the jovial baron wassure to be found. Old knights and equally elderly dames congregatedtogether in the capacious oriel windows, and, with the tapestrycurtains drawn aside, talked of the good old times of "Bluff KingHal, " and pointed out with pride of superiority of their own happyage to these degenerate days. Middle-aged matrons sat proudly watchingtheir offspring as they flitted to and fro, and noted with muchsatisfaction the matchless beauty of their own daughters, and themediocrity of the rest; or, were they so inclined, footed it, as ofold, with equally middle-aged gallants. Sir Benedict à Woode soonretired from the scene, and taking advantage of his intimate knowledgeof the building, he led a few convivial spirits, like himself, intothe wine-cellar, which they did their utmost to empty, until, havingimbibed too much, they were fain to lie down, through sheer inabilityto stand. 

It was from the rising generation, however, that the greatestmerriment arose. These, paired off in ever changing couples, whirledfrom one end of the room to the other, and then, without a pause, returned again, heedless alike of the gratulations of their elderfriends as they passed them by, and of the indifferent gaze of thosewho were not their friends who looked at them with jealous eyes. 

Dorothy, with a heavy load at her heart, wore a bright and evensmiling face. She received the flattering service of her admirers asof old, and danced impartially with all who asked for the privilege. 

Even Sir Edward Stanley, although she cordially disliked him, camein for a goodly share of her favours. He had noted a change in herconduct of late, and that change was for the better. He imagined thatshe was readier to accept his advances, and when he had communicatedhis thoughts to his brother, they were confirmed in almost everyrespect. Sir Thomas had remarked exactly the same change, and theyreadily ascribed it to a yielding of the maiden's spirit. 

Little did they suspect that this alteration in her bearing was dueto any other cause than that Manners was being forgotten, and inhis happiness at the change, Sir Edward was content to let her enjoyherself as she listed, feeling sure that ere the end of another monththere would be another bridal party, in which Dorothy Vernon andhimself would be the principal actors. 

When the merriment was at its highest, and the boisterousness was atits climax, Dorothy remembered that the time was fast approaching whenshe would have to depart. Her lover--he who had risked so much for hersake--would be waiting in the cold meadow with the horses waiting forher! and she sank down to rest, well knowing the terrible strain shewould soon be called upon to endure. 

"Fair Mistress Dorothy is tired, I perceive, " quoth a young knight, ashe approached her, longing for her company in another dance. 

"Aye, " she answered. "I have danced too much, sir knight, and my shoepinches too, " she added, with perfect truth. 

"Then by my troth, " responded the gallant youth, "I swear you have afull small shoe. "

"Come, Dorothy, " said Margaret as she came up to her sister's side, "here is a gentle knight who would dance with thee, " and she gravelyintroduced the veteran cavalier De Lacey. 

"You will forgive me awhile, will you not, Sir John?" said Dorothy, "for I am wearied and the room is over hot, " and smiling back at thegracious reply of the old knight, who accepted her excuse, she retiredto the corner of the room, while the disappointed De Lacey proceededto join company with Sir Benedict à Woode, and found solace inquaffing the baron's wine. 

Dorothy's heart was beating fast; the critical moment had come. Shewas close beside the door which led into the ante-chamber, and aslight noise in that apartment recalled to her memory the fact thather faithful maid Lettice was waiting for her there. 

She lingered, and her resolution wavered. It was hard to go andleave behind the scenes of merry childhood and all the pleasantrecollections connected with the home; and as she sat there undecided, many pleasant recollections rushed back into her memory and pleadedpowerfully with her tender heart. But the greatest pang of all was theparting from the baron. She loved him sincerely, and she knew that heloved her dearly in return. This it was which now held her back, butthe movements of her maid in the adjoining room continually remindedher that her lover would be waiting for her with an anxious heart. 

The struggle which raged in her breast was bitter, but shortand decisive. The love she bore to Manners outweighed all otherconsiderations, and casting a last fond look at the scene from whichshe was about to tear herself, she chose a moment when a peal oflaughter at the further end of the room attracted the attention of thecompany, and slipping behind the tapestry curtain, she pushed the doorgently open and stole quietly through. 

It was a desperate thing to do, and required all the nerve thatDorothy had at her command. How the door creaked as she closed itafter her. It must, surely, call attention to the fact that she hadpassed through. But no one came, and she flung herself into the armsof her maid, trembling like an aspen leaf with fear. 

"Oh, Lettice, " she sobbed, "tell the baron I love him still, andMargaret, too. Poor Meg! 'tis hard to be severed thus. "

"Hush, my lady, " replied the maid. "This is no time for weeping. Master Manners hath been here awaiting thee. I bade him go, for thatwere neither safe for him nor thee. "

"You shall join us soon, Lettice. But, O! give my duty to the baron. Ishould care naught were it not for him--and Meg; but Margaret is happynow. "

"And so shalt thou be soon. But haste! moments are precious now. Thygown and everything has gone, and the brave Master Manners waits forthee alone. There, go. Hark! someone is coming, " and throwing a shawlover the graceful shoulders of her mistress, Lettice affectionatelyembraced her, and watching her hasten down the steps she waited untilDorothy was out of sight before shutting and barring the doors behindher. 

As Dorothy passed the ballroom, she could hear distinctly the soundsof merriment within, but she heeded them not. The lights shone throughthe open oriel windows right upon her path, but she crept under theshadow of the wall and passed hastily on. It was a trying time, butshe safely passed through it, and quickly found herself at the littlelatchet gate below the bowling green. It stood open, and through itshe hastened, casting neither a look to the right nor to the left, noryet behind her, but only anxious that her escape should be unknown. Down the slope she ran, nor did she stop until she found herselfclasped in the fond embrace of her lover, upon the footbridge. 

"My darling, " murmured Manners, "thou art come at last. God blessthee, my love, " and he kissed the tear-stained face over and overagain. 

"I am ready, John, " she murmured; "but quick, hasten! our start willbe short, for they will mark my absence soon. "

Bestowing another shower of kisses upon her, Manners led her acrossthe narrow bridge. How gaily the water danced and sparkled and mademelody amongst the stones! How the wind sighed sweetly and whisperedamong the trees, and how the strains of music and the sounds ofrevelry sounded through the open windows of the Hall. But of all thesounds that Manners heard there was none which thrilled him so much, or caused him so much happiness, as the sound of Dorothy's dress asit rustled against the walls of the narrow bridge when they passedthrough. 

Once on the other side there was no delay. The horses were in waiting, and seizing the bridle of one, Manners helped Dorothy to mount intothe saddle, and then lightly springing into another, he set spurs tohis steed and away they started. 

The most sequestered roads were chosen, for they wished to see as fewpeople as possible, and to be seen by none. But Manners did not trustto this alone. He felt the preciousness of his charge, and had broughthorses and men with him, whom he sent off in couples by differentroads, to lead their pursuers on a false scent if pursuit were made. 

All through the night they rode. Scenes which charmed them beforethey now passed by unnoticed, and their grandeur was ignored. Masson'sheights, up which they had often wandered together, instilled nopleasant thoughts within their breasts now; their one object, whichengrossed all their attention, was to hasten forward to gain a havenof safety. 

As the grey light of the morning broke upon them, and the rising sunbegan to make its appearance, they crossed the border, and passed outof the county of Derby into the neighbouring shire of Leicester. Stillthey pushed on, for there was no telling how soon their pursuers mightbe upon them; nor did they draw rein until well into the morning, when, though Dorothy, animated for the time being with a wonderfulamount of endurance, gave her voice for hastening forward, Mannersdeemed it advisable, for her sake, to stay. 

They stopped their steeds at a wayside inn, but here so unusual asight as two travellers on horseback--one a maiden of surpassingbeauty, clothed in rare and costly silks, and the other a gallantyoung knight--soon caused a little crowd of curious rustics tocongregate around the house. 

"Poor lady, " exclaimed one tender-hearted matron, as she watchedDorothy dismount. "She is of gentle blood; just see how weary shelooks. "

"Didst ever see the likes of such a riding dress afore?" asked herneighbour, as she eyed Doll's dress admiringly. 

"Beshrew me, " added an onlooker of the sterner sex, "'tis a runawaymatch, I'll warrant me. These horses are ridden to death. "

Neither Dorothy nor Manners was disposed to stay any longer than wasnecessary amid such a curious people, and after partaking of a goodbreakfast, and indulging in a little rest, they started on their wayagain, with a fresh relay of horses. 

This time they never stopped until they rode up to the little church, within which the shivering clergyman sat, anxiously awaiting thecouple whom he had engaged to marry. 

He was ignorant of the plot, and though he might have guessedit pretty well, he was by no means anxious to lose byover-inquisitiveness the handsome fee which the young man hadpromised. He only chafed at their delay, and when at length theyarrived and entered the sacred edifice he proceeded straightway withthe service, quite as anxious to get it over, so that he might partakeof his breakfast, as were the couple before him, and almost as quicklyas they could have wished. 

"Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" said the parson, ashe gabbled on with the service. 

"Aye, I will!" responded Manners, in a clear ringing voice which wasechoed among the rafters of the roof, and he took her to his bosom andsealed the pledge with a kiss--a proceeding so unusual and peculiarthat the good clergyman opened his eyes and mouth, until finally hecame to a full stop. 

"I will!" repeated Manners, addressing the parson, "but why do youstop?" and he looked suspiciously behind to see if his pursuers hadcome to rob him of his prize. There was no one there, however, save afew rustics, who, prompted by sheer curiosity, had entered the churchand stood lingering just within the sacred portal, and in a fewminutes more the lovers emerged from the little church, safely joinedtogether in the bonds of holy wedlock, followed by the parson, whowore a smiling face, inasmuch as he had been rewarded with a gift farbeyond his utmost expectations. But the two lovers were far happierthan he, and with the certificate of marriage, signed, sealed, andentered in the register, they remounted their steeds and proceeded ata steady pace to Nottingham Castle, where, the Earl of Rutland havingunexpectedly returned, he extended a right hearty welcome to hisnephew and his beautiful bride. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

PEACE AT LAST. 

 Nor was she to be found! Her father cried, "'Tis but to make a trial of his love!" And filled his glass to all, but his hand shook, And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 

 ROGERS. 

Still at Haddon the fun maintained its uproarious course, and amid thewhirl of festivity Dorothy's absence was not remarked. 

Sir Edward Stanley was far too elated with the vision of success whichhad opened out before him to bore Dorothy with his presence on thisoccasion, but in spite of this he rarely let his eyes depart fromwatching her. 

"Hi, Sir Edward, " cried an inquisitive old dame from one of the deepwindow recesses. "Hither, good knight, for I would talk with theeawhile. "

He could not very well resist such a direct appeal, but he took hisseat beside her unwillingly enough. 

"I hear, Sir Edward, " confidentially began the dame, "that in a monthyou are to wed Mistress Dorothy Vernon; is that so?"

"It is, " he replied, curtly. 

"You are a lucky knight, then, " she replied, "for, except my Isabel, Dorothy is the fairest maiden I have ever clapt eyes on. But then, Isabel, forsooth, is not so rich. We cannot all be Vernons, you know, though if everybody had their deserts we--"

"Yes, I trow that she is rich and fair; but for neither of these do Icare so much as her love, " gallantly responded Stanley. 

"Tut, now, Sir Edward, " pursued his tormentor, "both you and I knowfull well that people marry for riches and rank, not for beauty. Youmarry for riches, I suppose, and she for rank. Now, sir knight, am Inot right?" she asked triumphantly. 

"Nay, my lady, you are far from it. You will excuse me now, I amsure; I am promised a dance with Dorothy shortly, " and he got up anddeparted, glad to get away so quickly, and deaf to her entreaty toreturn. 

His temper was ruffled, and he walked away to look for his partner, tolose his irritation in the sunshine of her company. 

But Dorothy was nowhere to be seen. 

He paced up and down the length of the room, chafing at her absence, and peering into every corner and recess as he wandered along. Thedining-room and banqueting-hall were searched equally in vain, andat last the baffled lover concluded that she had retired for a littlerest. 

He waited, irritated not a little at the long delay. His eye scannedeach passing figure again and again, and rigorously searched eachgroup, but it was all "love's labour lost;" Dorothy could not befound; and finally, unable any longer to control the forebodings ofhis suspicious heart, he hastened to the baron and acquainted him withall his fears. 

"Tush, man, " replied Sir George gaily; "maybe she is feeling somewhatout of sorts, or happen she is tired. Margaret!" he called, as thenewly-married maiden was passing along, "do thou seek for Dorothy, myLady Stanley. Thy new brother, Sir Edward, is jealous of her absence. "

"Ah, prithee do, good Margaret, " added that unhappy knight. "Herabsence just at this time bodes no good, I fear, and makes me feeluneasy. "

"She shall be here soon, " replied Lady Stanley, and she went away toseek the truant sister, leaving her husband to beguile the tediousnessof the time by engaging in conversation with his brother. Sir Thomaswas in high glee, and could find no sympathy with the miserableforebodings of his younger brother. 

"I tell thee what, Edward, " he said, "thou must let her have morefreedom. You are too rash; you must be astute an you would succeed. Dorothy is drawn by affection, not driven by ill words or sour looks. It had been better for thee, I trow, an thou hadst not pressed for themarriage so soon; but thou hast done it now. "

"Lady Maude advised me in it, and I cannot say I repent it now, thoughmy heart does misgive ever and again, " he replied. 

"That John Manners, " continued the elder Stanley, "is a good enoughman, a likely fellow, and would have done well for Dorothy; aye, andhad not you been in the way, he would have won her, too. Thou art nomatch for him, Edward; thou art too impatient. "

Edward hung down his head, and gazed uncomfortably upon the floor. Hewas conscious of the truth of his brother's statement, and could notwell refute it. He paused in silence, hoping that the subject would bepursued no further. 

"Here comes Margaret, " he said, lifting up his head and feelingmightily relieved that the awkward pause had come to an end; butsorely dismayed to see no Dorothy following behind. 

"Where is she?--she has gone!" he almost screamed as he saw the lookof consternation on her face. 

"I cannot find her, " Margaret replied, addressing herself to SirThomas. "I have searched her rooms, but all in vain; and no one knowsaught of her, no one has seen her. "

"Said I not so?" furiously exclaimed Sir Edward. "She has gone; thebird has flown. "

"What bird?" asked the baron, coming up. 

"Dorothy, Sir George. Dorothy has fled. "

"Fled; nay it cannot be, " returned the baron, stoutly. He had too muchfaith in Dorothy to believe that. 

"They are searching for her now, " said Margaret. "Nobody knows whereshe is, and Sir Edward has missed her long. I cannot understand it. "

"Her clothes are gone. Her riding habit has gone, " exclaimed one ofthe domestics, rushing breathlessly up to the group. "Father Nicholashath just come in and he says two horses, galloping, passed him on theAshbourne road. One, he thinks might have been a lady, but it was toodark to see distinctly. "

This she gasped out in jerks, but her news was intelligible enough, and it threw the whole assembly at once into a ferment of confusion, amid which could be heard the voice of Sir Edward Stanley exclaiming, in a tone far above the rest of the babel--"That was Dorothy. "

"Gone!" exclaimed the baron, aghast. "Nay, search the Hall. "

"Out; to your saddles, ye gallant knights, " commanded Sir ThomasStanley, promptly. "Here is a prize worth the capturing. She must bestopped!" and he quickly led the way to the stables, and in a veryshort space of time was mounted and urging his steed to the utmostalong the Ashbourne road. 

Sir George stayed behind; he could not believe that Dorothy hadreally gone; but when a thorough investigation of the Hall, and theoutbuildings also, revealed the fact that she was nowhere there, hewas stricken with dismay, and succumbed, for a time, to a feeling ofdespair. 

"Nicholas, " he said, as the worthy father approached to comfort him, "thou art sure that one was a lady?"

"It was dark, Sir George, " the priest replied. "I was unsuspicious, and deep in meditation, but I fear it was so. "

"Was it my Doll?"

"I cannot say, " he replied. "I never saw the face, and did butimperfectly see the form. "

The baron sank back, regardless of the ladies who crowded round him, commiserating his ill fortune. He remained silent, with a bowed headand bleeding heart. 

All night long the pursuit was kept up. Every lane was searched, everyinnkeeper was severely catechised, and although in several instancesthey had the satisfaction of hearing that couples, either on horses orin conveyances, had passed, yet when the quarry was hunted down, if itdid not turn out to be an inoffensive market gardener and his worthyspouse returning from Derby Christmas market, in almost every otherinstance the horsemen were the decoys that Manners had so carefullyprovided. 

At last the chase was given up. Dorothy had proved one too many forthem, and with mingled feelings her pursuers turned their steeds againtowards Haddon, curious to learn if any of the others had been morefortunate than themselves. 

The two Stanleys were the last to return, but after having been out inthe saddle for more than a whole day, and that upon the right scent, they were obliged to return without having met with success. 

The next day was spent in searching the neighbourhood. Every inn andevery house was visited, but the night falling, they returned againempty-handed, and very disconsolate. 

News came with the next day's courier, for Dorothy dutifullyacquainted her father, in a touching letter, with all the details ofthe engagement, the elopement, and the marriage. Manners, too, sent anote to the baron, in which he pathetically pleaded Dorothy'scause. "And sure, " the epistle concluded, "so doting a father as youundoubtedly are would not force so loving a daughter to wed againsther will. You clearly sought her welfare and, in choosing Sir EdwardStanley, thought you were doing well for her, but it was a sadmistake. I have her undivided love, and even if we are for everbanished from 'dear old Haddon, ' as Doll delights to call it, we shallbe happy in each other's confidence and love; though I confess thatDorothy hath a tender heart and grieves to think how you must regardher. None but myself, she declares, could ever have led her to leavethee. I feel for thee, but I feel for my sweet Doll, too. At thybidding, whenever given, we will gladly visit thee. Till then--adieu. "

"Married!" cried Lady Vernon, aghast, as Sir Thomas Stanley read theletter aloud. She was speechless with rage and could say no more, buther looks betokened the feelings of her heart. "

"Married!" echoed Sir Edward, in dismay. 

"Aye, married, " responded Sir Thomas. "You have lost her, Edward; itis as I said. "

"Poor, foolish Dorothy, " exclaimed the baron, in a decidedlysympathetic frame of mind. "Poor Doll. "

"Poor Dorothy, indeed, " retorted Lady Maude, sharply. "Wicked, perverse Dorothy, you mean, Sir George. I shall never look at heragain. We must make her undo the marriage bond again, Sir Edward, " shecontinued, turning to the disappointed lover. 

Even that rash knight could see the futility of such advice, and hedespondently shook his head. 

"Nay, " he said, "I fear that cannot be easily done. "

"Easily done, sir knight, " tauntingly replied the dame. "Who talks ofease in a matter like this? It must--it shall be done. "

"It cannot be done, " replied Sir Thomas, promptly. "Manners will havebeen too careful to allow of that. We must resign ourselves to theloss; and you, Edward, will have to seek elsewhere for a bride. "

"'Resign' and 'cannot, '" continued Lady Vernon, contemptuously. "Did'st ever hear the like of it, Margaret?"

But Margaret was mercifully inclined, and by siding with Dorothy shewould be supporting her husband. Therefore she could not agree withthe angry declamations of her stepmother. 

"Poor Dorothy, " she exclaimed, "I pity her, but she has done foolishlyindeed. "

Lady Vernon was astonished; she had counted upon Margaret's support atleast. 

"Pity her, indeed!" she scornfully laughed. "She shall have littleenough of my pity if ever I clap my eyes on her again, " replied LadyVernon. "She shall never come here again. "

"Hush, Maude, " interrupted the baron, "I shall settle that. "

Lady Vernon had never been spoken to in such a manner since she hadwedded Sir George, and she staggered back in surprise as though shehad been struck by an invisible hand. 

"You will--!" she began, but checked herself. The baron's brow wasforbidding. She had never seen him look so threatening before, and shecowered back in fear and kept a discreet silence. 

"I am furious, " the baron burst out, with a sudden revulsion offeeling. "To think that my Dorothy should serve me thus! and as shehas chosen, so shall it be. She prefers Manners to me, then she shallhave him. I disown her, she is none of mine. She shall never return. "

Flesh and blood, however, is very human, and, in spite of his sternresolve never to see Dorothy again, the baron's naturally kind heartsoon began to soften, and in a short space of time his feelings hadentirely undergone a change. He longed to clasp his lost darling tohis heart again, and tell her she was forgiven, but he was proud, andhis pride held him back from declaring his sentiments. 

It was not long to be endured. He became anxious. Dorothy was ill. SirRonald Bury had sent him word of that in a letter which was calculatedto stab the baron to the very heart. He grew restless; his consciencepricked him day and night, until, unable to bear it any longer, hedeclared himself. 

"Maude, " he said, as together they sat in the lonely dining-room, "Dorothy has been a month gone now. "

"Yes, " she carelessly replied. 

"And I hear she is sorely ill. "

"Like enough, " said Lady Vernon, not unwilling to make the knightsuffer a little, for she had not forgiven him yet. "She was ill enoughwhen she went. "

"Then, " returned the baron, "she shall come back; we cannot do withouther. "

Lady Vernon turned sharply round to expostulate with her lord, butseeing his forbidding countenance, she desisted, and her silence SirGeorge tacitly construed as acquiescence. 

"I shall send for her this very day, " pursued the good old knight, "wemust try to forget the past, Maude--for, in good sooth, we have alldone amiss--and begin again. We have no Margaret now, and withoutDoll, gone in such a fashion withal, we were miserable indeed. "

"We must have more balls and feasts, " quickly suggested Lady Maude. "They will heal our wounds. "

"Balls and feasts!" repeated the baron. "Nay, we are too old for thosenow. We should only get Benedict and old De Lacey to come, for, by myhalidame, squires and knights won't come to see us now Meg and Dollare gone, and then, Maude, after all, you know, " he continued slyly, "love will have its own way, and you trow full well that folk blamedme enough when I wedded. "

Lady Maude blushed. The comments on her marriage with the baron hadbeen by no means what she might have wished, as the remembrance ofthem was not particularly pleasant to her even now, so she discreetlyheld her peace. 

"We cannot blame her, Maude, " went on Sir George, waxing enthusiasticas the love of Dorothy asserted itself more and more within him. "Weare all alike to blame, and had I been John Manners myself, I shouldmaybe have done just what he has done. Who could help it, eh, Maude?Not I, in truth; and then, Manners has done us good service, too. Wemust welcome them back, and make them happy if we can. I shall send amessage off now. "

Before his feelings had found time to change--even had he sowished--he scrawled a note of forgiveness to the fugitives, prayingthem to return, and before he returned to his wife the messenger wason his way. 

 * * * * *

A warm welcome awaited gallant John Manners and his beautiful lady as, a week later, they were met by the fond father just outside Haddon. 

Impatiently, the baron had awaited their return. For two whole dayshe had done little else than watch for their coming, from the loftiestportion of the tall eagle tower, and when at last the little cavalcadecould be distinguished in the far distance, wending its way with allpossible haste towards the Hall, he started off to meet them. 

It was a glad reunion. Even Lady Maude was touched, as she met them inthe courtyard, and with much more kindliness than she had been wontto treat Doll for some time, she kissed the upraised face; Mannersreceived a stately bow. He, at all events, had much to be forgivenyet; but the baron, casting the last particle of pride to the winds, warmly and repeatedly embraced his daughter, and frankly greeted herhusband. 

The menials with one accord united to welcome back the youthfulcouple, for Dorothy was universally beloved, and somehow or otherthe story of Manners' disguise had got abroad and had made hosts ofadmiring friends for him, both high and low. 

Even Lady Maude melted at last and regarded him with favour, butwhether this was because she learned that his uncle, the earl, favoured his nephew and petted his bride, or whether the highlysatisfactory conduct of Master Manners himself gained her esteem, mustbe left for the courteous reader to determine. 

Happiness now reigned once more in Haddon. The old Hall rung againwith shouts of gladness, and in a short space of time Manners hadthe satisfaction of promoting Lettice's husband to a more honourableposition than he had formerly occupied. 

At the end of a year, as the oft-falling snows betokened the comingof another Christmas, sad news reached Haddon. Margaret was dead. Thedampness of Castle Rushen had brought on a fever, to which she soonhad succumbed. Thus the whole estates of Haddon fell, ultimately, to Dorothy's share, which she presented to her faithful lover as herdowry. John Manners' descendants, the Rutlands, have had reason to bethankful for this, for it added largely to their riches, but Mannershimself declared that had she brought him all the wealth that "GoodQueen Bess" possessed, he had not been one whit the happier. He couldsee nothing he prized so highly as his wife, and in her he found hisall in all. 

It is only necessary to add that discord, never again invaded thedomain of Haddon. The marriage proved a happy one; and no one, exceptthe Stanleys, regretted it in

THE END.