kind to raise her sister's fears about
Ambrose.

'Come and sit by me, sweetheart,' Mary said, making room for her sister on
the deep window seat. 'I am troubled to-night with a shadow of coming
grief. Sure I have had enough, and I am young yet. Twenty-five is young,
though I dare to say I seem old to you, little sister. I am perplexed in
mind, and tossed about with doubt. Can you think of me as a merry,
light-hearted maiden, donning my smartest gown to go at Lady Mary's bidding
to the Park, where great festivities were held in honour of the Queen's
visit? Ah, child, it was then soft words and flattery turned my head, and
I--well, I have rued it to this hour. Thus, dear Lucy, when I think of your
going forth in my Lady Pembroke's train, I fear for you. I will pray also,
and pray God may watch over you.'

'Then I may go,' Lucy said. 'I may really go. Oh, Mary, Mary, I am so
happy!'

Then, remembering her encounter with the stranger she said,--

'I met a man on the hill path as I went to Hillbrow. He scared me a little
bit, but George Ratcliffe came up, and he made off and like a ghost
vanished.'

'A man!' Mary exclaimed, in a low voice of suppressed fear. 'What man?'

'He was clad in a long cloak, with a cap pulled over his brow. He had evil
eyes--dark, piercing eyes.'

Mary Gifford's clasp of her young sister tightened convulsively, and her
heart throbbed so that Lucy could feel it as she pressed her closer and
closer.

'What did he say to you, this strange man?'

'He said he would fain see little Ambrose, and bid me bring him to the
stile where he met me, that he might look at him. He said he would call a
curse down on me if I refused. He looked dreadful as he spoke. And then
George came. But, Mary--'

For Mary had sprung to her feet, and, with hands clasped and eyes dilated
with terror, she stood like one struck down by some sudden blow.

'Promise, swear, Lucy, you will never take the child outside the fence on
the hill side. Swear, Lucy.'

Lucy was frightened by her sister's vehemence, and said,--

'Yes, I promise. Oh, Mary, do not look like that. Do you know the man?'

'Know him! know him! Nay. How should I?' Then she said, after a pause,
'Hush! we shall wake the boy. Let us talk no more to-night. Go to your bed,
child; it is late, and to-morrow--yes, to-morrow is Sunday--I will go down
with you to the church, and await my Lady Pembroke by the lych gate, and
you shall have your desire, and God keep y