oo great to be good to me--little Lucy
Forrester. And it may be I shall never see him again--never return to Lady
Pembroke--live up on that hill all my days, and get as stupid and dull as
the old brindled cow that stares with big, dull eyes straight before her,
and sees nought, nor cares for nought but to chew her food.

'Alack! I am right sorry for Mary's grief. But I wish, if Ambrose was to be
stolen, she had not fallen sick, so that I must needs go and tend her. I am
a selfish hussy to feel this--selfish and hard-hearted! But, oh, was ever
anyone more grievously disappointed than I am. A few short, bright days,
and then back, back to the old, dreary life. Still, I am young; yes, and I
am fair too. I know it, and I may yet be happy.'

Lucy's meditations continued in this strain, in alternate fears and hopes,
for some time.

The cavalcade stopped at intervals at wayside hostels to bait the horses,
and to refresh the travellers with draughts of ale and cider. One of these
potations had a soporific effect on Lucy, and, after drinking it, she
became oblivious of jolts and stoppages, of the fair country through which
she passed, and was wrapped in profound slumber, her head resting against
the broad back of the servant who held the reins, and urged on old Prince's
somewhat slow steps by a succession of monotonous sounds, which now and
again broke into the refrain of a song, one of the ballads familiar to
Kentish men, and handed down from father to son for many generations.

* * * * *

Humphrey had reached Ford Manor late on the previous evening. He had ridden
hard and fast to Tunbridge, and had heard from Dorothy Ratcliffe's father
that the Papists' colony was supposed to be broken up, and that they had
escaped to Southampton, and taken ship for France.

Two priests had been seized and thrown into prison at Canterbury, and this
was supposed to have caused the dispersion of their followers, who had
evaded pursuit, and were now thought to be beyond the reach of their
persecutors. But neither from his old uncle, Edgar Ratcliffe, nor from any
other source could Humphrey glean any information which might throw light
on the disappearance of little Ambrose Gifford.

Nor did the intelligence of his loss seem greatly to affect the old man,
nor indeed to be of any interest to the few people at Tunbridge of whom
Humphrey made inquiries.

They were far more anxious to hear news from the Court, and