where she stood abstractedly
looking through the lattice which overhung a large yard, surrounded by
the stables of the hostelry. Some yeomen were dressing their own or their
masters' horses, whistling, singing and laughing. Suddenly she bent
forward eagerly.

"My father," she cried, "prithee come here!"

"What is it, Francis?" asked Lord Stafford joining her.

"Dost see the boy on the cart that has just entered the yard?"

"Yes."

"What is he, think you?"

"My child, he is a carter. What doth make thee so full of interest in
him?"

"Might it not be that as a carter he would go to Chartley sometimes?"

"Gramercy! I see thy meaning. How full of wit thou art!"

Francis smiled, much gratified.

"If it can be compassed would it not be excellent to enter Chartley as a
carter? The thing is to get within the gates. Then the delivery of the
letters would be easy."

"'Tis excellently thought of, child, but there are guards within as well.
'Twould still require adroitness to accomplish the rest."

"Trust me! If I can get within, the rest shall follow," said she with
great determination. "I will enter into talk with that carter and see
what can be done with him. My father, do I bear myself in a manner
befitting my garb?"

"Thou art a very model of pagehood, Francis. Go, my child. Heavy as the
burden of this emprise is it seems to have shifted its weight to thy
shoulders. Find if the lad goes to Chartley, and if so, the way may be
opened for us to enter therein. Divers means must be employed to
accomplish our aims."

The girl left the chamber and, assuming the careless frowardness of a
page, sauntered into the yard.

"Good-morrow, my lad," she said, stopping by the side of the boy who was
busily engaged in removing sacks, baskets and other receptacles from the
cart.

"Good-morrow, young sir," returned the wight civilly. "It hath been some
days since I saw your worshipful sir. Methought that you had gone away."

"Nay; I tarry here still for there is good cheer to be found at the Red
Hand," quoth Francis with a bold swagger. "How busy thou art."

"Yes; the likes o' us have to be. What with loading the cart, delivering,
and unloading again, and caring for the nag I find the time full."

"And where doth it all go, lad?"

"To Chartley, sir."

"Chartley? Is not that where Mary of Scotland is confined?" asked
Francis, trying to speak indifferently.

"The very place."

"Didst ever see her, boy?"

"Why, yes,