rtled her, and
the book slipped from her hand on to the floor. But Mary did not stay,
she had only come for something to show her visitor; and as Maud picked
up the book, she went out again, and did not see how pale Maud had
suddenly grown, as she sat and stared at the inner cover of the book.

There was nothing very remarkable there,--only, "Mistress Stanhope, from
an old friend. Oxford, 1645." But Maud knew that Harry's hand had traced
those letters, and she wondered how it was he was at Oxford, and whether
he was there now. When Mary came back Maud was still staring at her name
in the book.

"Marry, what are you looking at?" asked the young matron, glancing over
her shoulder.

"Harry wrote this?" gasped Maud.

"I suppose he did," coolly spoke Mary; "but he had the grace to conceal
the fact that I was his sister."

Maud had noticed that he wrote "friend" instead of "brother."

"Why should he do this?" she said.

"Prithee, Maud, will you never see how he has disgraced our name?" said
Mary, impatiently. "Nay, nay, you have not seen my father's misery since
he hath been here, and how closely he hath kept himself shut up, lest
any should hear his name."

"But why should he do this?" asked Maud.

"Why?" uttered Mary, "when all men are talking of the traitor rebel,
Harry Drury, who was this day to be executed."

Her voice faltered as she said the last words, although she tried to
appear unmoved as she added, "But the execution is postponed, I hear."

"Only postponed!" gasped Maud, who sat with widely staring eyes.

"The letters were to save their lives, I heard."

"What letters?" asked Mary.

"Those I brought from Hayslope, where the parliament messenger lies
sorely wounded," said Maud.

Mary did not wait to hear more, but went to meet her husband, who was
coming up the stairs. The gaily dressed officer bowed to Maud as he
entered a few minutes afterwards, but she could see he looked annoyed.

"Good-morrow, lady messenger," he said. "You did but reach Oxford in
time, and if you had been an hour later 'twere better for his Majesty, I
trow."

"Prithee, tell me why?" said Maud.

"There would have been six stout-hearted rebels the less to fight
against King Charles," said Captain Stanhope.

"Are the prisoners released?" asked Maud, with an exclamation of joy.

"Nay, nay, not yet; but we cannot afford to execute them, for the rebel
army hath five thousand of our loyal troopers, and they propose to
excha